The Bars of Iron

By Ethel M. Dell

1916

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO MY BROTHER REGINALD WITH MY LOVE

"He hath broken the gates of brass:And smitten the bars of iron in sunder. "Psalm cvii. , 16. 

"I saw heaven opened. "Revelation xix. , II. 

PROLOGUE

PART I

THE GATES OP BRASS

CHAPTER

 I. A JUG OF WATER

 II. CONCERNING FOOLS

 III. DISCIPLINE

 IV. THE MOTHER'S HELP

 V. LIFE ON A CHAIN

 VI. THE RACE

 VII. A FRIEND IN NEED

 VIII. A TALK BY THE FIRE

 IX. THE TICKET OF LEAVE

 X. SPORT

 XI. THE STAR OF HOPE

 XII. A PAIR OF GLOVES

 XIII. THE VISION

 XIV. A MAN'S CONFIDENCE

 XV. THE SCHEME

 XVI. THE WARNING

 XVII. THE PLACE OF TORMENT

 XVIII. HORNS AND HOOFS

 XIX. THE DAY OF TROUBLE

 XX. THE STRAIGHT TRUTH

 XXI. THE ENCHANTED LAND

 XXII. THE COMING OF A FRIEND

 XXIII. A FRIEND'S COUNSEL

 XXIV. THE PROMISE

 XXV. DROSS

 XXVI. SUBSTANCE

 XXVII. SHADOW

 XXVIII. THE EVESHAM DEVIL

 XXIX. A WATCH IN THE NIGHT

 XXX. THE CONFLICT

 XXXI. THE RETURN

 XXXII. THE DECISION

 XXXIII. THE LAST DEBT

 XXXIV. THE MESSAGE

 XXXV. THE DARK HOUR

 XXXVI. THE SUMMONS

 XXXVII. "LA GRANDE PASSION"

 XXXVIII. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES

PART II

THE PLACE OF TORMENT

 I. DEAD SEA FRUIT

 II. THAT WHICH IS HOLY

 III. THE FIRST GUEST

 IV. THE PRISONER IN THE DUNGEON

 V. THE SWORD FALLS

 VI. THE MASK

 VII. THE GATES OF HELL

 VIII. A FRIEND IN NEED

 IX. THE GREAT GULF

 X. SANCTUARY

 XI. THE FALLING NIGHT

 XII. THE DREAM

 XIII. THE HAND OF THE SCULPTOR

PART III

THE OPEN HEAVEN

 I. THE VERDICT

 II. THE TIDE COMES BACK

 III. THE GAME

 IV. THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN

 V. THE DESERT ROAD

 VI. THE ENCOUNTER

 VII. THE PLACE OF REPENTANCE

 VIII. THE RELEASE OP THE PRISONER

 IX. HOLY GROUND

EPILOGUE

The Bars of Iron

PROLOGUE

"Fight? I'll fight you with pleasure, but I shall probably kill you if Ido. Do you want to be killed?" Brief and contemptuous the question fell. The speaker was a mere lad. He could not have been more than nineteen. But he held himself with the superb British assurance that has its rootin the British public school and which, once planted, in certain soils iswholly ineradicable. 

The man he faced was considerably his superior in height and build. Healso was British, but he had none of the other's careless ease ofbearing. He stood like an angry bull, with glaring, bloodshot eyes. 

He swore a terrific oath in answer to the scornful enquiry. "I'll breakevery bone in your body!" he vowed. "You little, sneering bantam, I'llsmash your face in! I'll thrash you to a pulp!"

The other threw up his head and laughed. He was sublimely unafraid. Buthis dark eyes shone red as he flung back the challenge. "All right, youdrunken bully! Try!" he said. 

They stood in the garish light of a Queensland bar, surrounded by aneager, gaping crowd of farmers, boundary-riders, sheep-shearers, who hadcome down to this township on the coast on business or pleasure at theend of the shearing season. 

None of them knew how the young Englishman came to be among them. Heseemed to have entered the drinking-saloon without any very definiteobject in view, unless he had been spurred thither by a spirit ofadventure. And having entered, a boyish interest in the motley crowd, which was evidently new to him, had induced him to remain. He had sat ina corner, keenly observant but wholly unobtrusive, for the greater partof an hour, till in fact the attention of the great bully now confrontinghim had by some ill-chance been turned in his direction. 

The man was three parts drunk, and for some reason, not verycomprehensible, he had chosen to resent the presence of thisclean-limbed, clean-featured English lad. Possibly he recognized in him atype which for its very cleanness he abhorred. Possibly his sodden brainwas stirred by an envy which the Colonials round him were powerless toexcite. For he also was British-born. And he still bore traces, albeitthey were not very apparent at that moment, of the breed from which hehad sprung. 

Whatever the cause of his animosity, he had given it full and ready vent. A few coarse expressions aimed in the direction of the young stranger haddone their work. The boy had risen to go, with disgust written openlyupon his face, and instantly the action had been seized upon by the olderman as a cause for offence. 

He had not found his victim slow to respond. In fact his challenge hadbeen flung back with an alacrity that had somewhat astonished thebystanders and rendered interference a matter of some difficulty. 

But one of them did at this juncture make his voice heard in a word ofadmonition to the half-tipsy aggressor. 

"You had better mind what you do, Samson. There will be a row if thatyoung chap gets hurt. "

"Yes, he'd better get out of it, " said one or two. 

But the young chap in question turned on them with a flash of his whiteteeth. "Don't you worry yourselves!" he said. "If he wants tofight--let him!"

They muttered uneasily in answer. It was plain that Samson'sbull-strength was no allegory to them. But the boy's confidenceremained quite unimpaired. He faced his adversary with the lust ofbattle in his eyes. 

"Come on, you slacker!" he said. "I like a good fight. Don't keepme waiting!"

The bystanders began to laugh, and the man they called Samson turnedpurple with rage. He flung round furiously. "There's a yard at the back, "he cried. "We'll settle it there. I'll teach you to use your spurs on me, my young game-cock!"

"Come on then!" said the stranger. "P'r'aps I shall teach you somethingtoo! You'll probably be killed, as I said before; but if you'll take therisk I have no objection. "

Again the onlookers raised a laugh. They pressed round to see the face ofthe English boy who was so supremely unafraid. It was a very handsomeface, but it was not wholly English. The eyes were too dark and toopassionate, the straight brows too black, the features too finelyregular. The mouth was mobile, and wayward as a woman's, but the chinmight have been modelled in stone--a fighting chin, aggressive, indomitable. There was something of the ancient Roman about the wholecast of his face which, combined with that high British bearing, made himundeniably remarkable. Those who looked at him once generally turned tolook again. 

One of the spectators--a burly Australian farmer--pushed forward from thethrong and touched his arm. "Look here, my son!" he said in an undertone. "You've no business here, and no call to fight whatever. Clear out ofit--quick! Savvy? I'll cover your tracks. "

The boy drew himself up with a haughty movement. Plainly for the momenthe resented the advice. But the next very suddenly he smiled. 

"Thanks! Don't trouble! I can hold my own and a bit over. There's nogreat difficulty in downing a drunken brute like that. "

"Don't you be too cock-sure!" the farmer warned him. "He's a heavyweight, and he's licked bigger men than you when he's been in just thestate he's in now. "

But the English boy only laughed, and turned to follow his adversary. 

Every man present pressed after him. A well-sustained fight, though anevent of no uncommon occurrence, was a form of entertainment that neverfailed to attract. They crowded out to the back premises in a body, unhindered by any in authority. 

A dingy backyard behind the house furnished ground for the fray. Here thespectators gathered in a ring around an arc of light thrown by astable-lamp over the door, and the man they called Samson proceeded withsavage energy to strip to the waist. 

The young stranger's face grew a shade more disdainful as he noted theaction. He himself removed coat, waistcoat, and collar, all of whichhe handed to the farmer who had offered to assist him in making goodhis escape. 

"Just look after these for a minute!" he said. 

"You're a cool hand, " said the other man admiringly. "I'll see you don'tget bullied anyhow. "

The young man nodded his thanks. He looked down at his hands and slowlyclenched and opened them again. 

"Oh, I shan't be bullied, " he said, in a tone of grim conviction. 

And then the fight began. 

It was obvious from the outset that it could not be a very prolonged one. Samson attacked with furious zest. He evidently expected to find hisopponent very speedily at his mercy, and he made no attempt to husbandhis strength. But his blows went wide. The English lad avoided them withan agility that kept him practically unscathed. Had he been a hardhitter, he might have got in several blows himself, but he only landedone or two. His face was set and white as a marble mask in which only theeyes lived--eyes that watched with darting intensity for the chance toclose. And when that chance came he took it so suddenly and sounexpectedly that not one of the hard-breathing, silent crowd around himsaw exactly how he gained his hold. One moment he was avoiding asmashing, right-handed blow; the next he had his adversary locked in agrip of iron, the while he bent and strained for the mastery. 

From then onwards an element that was terrible became apparent in theconflict. From a simple fisticuff it developed into a deadly strugglebetween skilled strength and strength that was merely brutal. Silently, with heaving, convulsive movements, the two struggling figures swayed toand fro. One of Samson's arms was imprisoned in that unyielding clutch. The other rained blows upon his adversary's head and shoulders thatproduced no further effect than if they had been bestowed upon cast-iron. 

The grip of the boy's arms only grew tighter and tighter with snake-likeforce, while a dreadful smile came into the young face and became stampedthere, engraved in rigid lines. His lower lip was caught between histeeth, and a thin stream of blood ran from it over the smooth, clean-cutchin. It was the only sign he gave that he was putting forth the whole ofhis strength. 

A murmur of surprise that had in it a note of uneasiness began to runthrough the ring of onlookers. They had seen many a fight before, butnever a fight like this. Samson's face had gone from red to purple. Hiseyes had begun to start. Quite plainly he also was taken by surprise. Desperately, with a streaming forehead, he changed his tactics. He hadno skill. Until that day he had relied upon superior strength and weightto bring him victorious through every casual fray; and it had neverbefore failed him. But that merciless, suffocating hold compelled him toabandon offensive measures to effect his escape. He stopped his wild andfutile hammering and with his one free hand he grasped the back of hisopponent's neck. 

The move was practically inevitable, but its effect was such as only oneanticipated. That one was his adversary, who slowly bent under his weightas though overcome thereby, shifting his grip lower and lower till italmost looked as if he were about to collapse altogether. But just as thebreaking-point seemed to be reached there came a change. He gatheredhimself together and with gigantic exertion began to straighten his bentmuscles. Slowly but irresistibly he heaved his enemy upwards. There camea moment of desperate, confused struggle; and then, as the man lost hisbalance at last, he relaxed his grip quite suddenly, flinging himheadlong over his shoulder. 

It was a clean throw, contrived with masterly assurance, the result ofdeliberate and trained calculation. The bully pitched upon his head onthe rough stones of the yard, and turned a complete somersault with theviolence of his fall. 

A shout of amazement went up from the spectators. This end of thestruggle was totally unexpected. 

The successful combatant remained standing with the sweat pouring fromhis face and the blood still running down his chin. He stretched out hisarms with a slow, mechanical movement as if to test the condition of hismuscles after the tremendous strain he had put upon them. Then, still asit were mechanically, he felt the torn collar-band of his shirt, withspeculative fingers. Finally he whizzed round on the heels and stared atthe huddled form of his fallen foe. 

A shabby little man with thick, sandy eyebrows had gone to hisassistance, but he lay quite motionless in a twisted, ungainly attitude. The flare of the lamp was reflected in his glassy, upturned eyes. Dumblyhis conqueror stood staring down at him. He seemed to stand above themall in that his moment of dreadful victory. 

He spoke at length, and through his voice there ran a curious tremor asof a man a little giddy, a little dazed by immense and appalling height. 

"I thought I could do it!" he said. "I--thought I could!"

It was his moment of triumph, of irresistible elation. The devil in himhad fought--and conquered. 

It swayed him--and passed. He was left white to the lips and suddenly, terribly, afraid. 

"What have I done to him?" he asked, and the tremor was gone from hisvoice; it was level, dead level. "I haven't killed him really, have I?"

No one answered him. They were crowding round the fallen man, stoopingover him with awe-struck whispering, straightening the crumpled, inertlimbs, trying to place the heavy frame in a natural posture. 

The boy pressed forward to look, but abruptly his supporter caught him bythe shoulder and pulled him back. 

"No, no!" he said in a sharp undertone. "You're no good here. Get out ofit! Put on your clothes and--go!"

He spoke urgently. The boy stared at him, suffering the compelling hand. All the fight had gone completely out of him. He was passive with theparalysis of a great horror. 

The farmer helped him into his clothes, and himself removed theblood-stain from the lad's dazed face. "Don't be a fool!" he urged. "Pullyourself together and clear out! This thing was an accident. I'llengineer it. "

"Accident!" The boy straightened himself sharply with the movement ofone brought roughly to his senses. "I suppose the throw broke his neck, "he said. "But it was no accident. I did it on purpose. I told him Ishould probably kill him, but he would have it. " He turned and squarelyfaced the other. "I don't know what I ought to do, " he said, speakingmore collectedly. "But I'm certainly not going to bolt. "

The farmer nodded with brief comprehension. He had the steady eyes of aman accustomed to the wide spaces of the earth. "That's all right, " hesaid, and took him firmly by the arm. "You come with me. My name isCrowther. We'll have a talk outside. There's more room there. You've gotto listen to reason. Come!"

He almost dragged the boy away with the words. No one intercepted orspoke a word to delay them. Together they passed back through the emptydrinking-saloon--the boy with his colourless face and set lips, the manwith his resolute, far-seeing eyes--and so into the dim roadway beyond. 

They left the lights of the reeking bar behind. The spacious night closedin upon them. 

PART I

THE GATES OF BRASS

CHAPTER I

A JUG OF WATER

It was certainly not Caesar's fault. Caesar was as well-meaning aDalmatian as ever scampered in the wake of a cantering horse. And if Mikein his headlong Irish fashion chose to regard the scamper as a grosspersonal insult, that was surely not a matter for which he couldreasonably be held responsible. And yet it was upon the luckless Caesarthat the wrath of the gods descended as a consequence of Mike'swrong-headed deductions. 

It began with a rush and a snarl from the Vicarage gate and it haddeveloped into a set and deadly battle almost before either of thecombatants had fully realized the other. 

The rider drew rein, yelling furiously; but his yells were about aseffectual as the wail of an infant. Neither animal was so much as awareof his existence in those moments of delirious warfare. They were lockedalready in that silent, swaying grip which every fighting dog with anyknowledge of the great game seeks to establish, to break which merehumans may put forth their utmost strength in vain. 

The struggle was a desperate and a bloody one, and it speedily becameapparent to the rider that he would have to dismount if he intended toput an end to it. 

Fiercely he flung himself off his horse and threw the reins over theVicarage gate-post. Then, riding-crop in hand, he approached the swayingfighting animals. It was like a ghastly wrestling-match. Both were ontheir feet, struggling to and fro, each with jaws hard gripped upon theother's neck, each silent save for his spasmodic efforts to breathe. 

"Stop it, damn you!" shouted the rider, slashing at them with the zeal ofunrestrained fury. "Caesar, you infernal brute, stop it, will you? I'llkill you if you don't!"

But Caesar was deaf to all threats and quite unconscious of the fact thathis master and not his enemy was responsible for the flail-like strokesof the whirling lash. They shifted from beneath it instinctively, butthey fought deliriously on. 

And at that the man with the whip completely lost his self-control. Heset to work to thrash and thrash the fighting animals till one or otherof them--or himself--should become exhausted. 

It developed into a horrible competition organized and conducted by theman's blind fury, and in what fashion it would have ended it would behard to say. But, luckily for all three, there came at length aninterruption. Someone--a woman--came swiftly out of the Vicarage gardencarrying a bedroom jug. She advanced without a pause upon the seething, infuriated group. 

"It's no good beating them, " she said, in a voice which, though somewhathurried, was one of clear command. "Get out of the way, and be ready tocatch your dog when they come apart!"

The man glanced round for an instant, his face white with passion. "I'llkill the brutes!" he declared. 

"Indeed you won't, " she returned promptly. "Stand away now or you will bedrenched!"

As she spoke she raised her jug above the struggling animals. Her facealso shone white in the wintry dusk, but her actions denoted unwaveringresolution. 

"Now!" she said; and, since he would not move, she flung the icy waterwithout compunction over the dogs and him also. 

"Damnation!" he cried violently. But she broke in upon him. "Quick!Quick! Now's the time! Grab your dog! I'll catch Mike!"

The urgency of the order compelled compliance. Almost in spite of himselfhe stooped to obey. And so it came to pass that five seconds later, Caesar was being mercilessly thrashed by his enraged master, while thereal culprit was being dragged, cursing breathlessly, from the scene. 

It was a brutal thrashing and wholly undeserved. Caesar, awaking to thehorror of it, howled his anguish; but no amount of protest on his partmade the smallest impression upon the wielder of the whip. It continuedto descend upon his writhing body with crashing force till he rolled uponthe ground in agony. 

Even then the punishment would not have ceased, but for a secondinterruption. It was the woman from the Vicarage garden again; but sheburst upon the scene this time with something of the effect of anavalanche. She literally whirled between the man and his victim. Shecaught his upraised arm. 

"Oh, you brute!" she cried. "You brute!"

He stiffened in her hold. They stood face to face. Caesar crept whiningand shivering to the side of the road. 

Slowly the man's arm fell to his side, still caught in that quiveringgrasp. He spoke in a voice that struggled boyishly between resentment andshame. "The dog's my own. "

Her hold relaxed. "Even a dog has his rights, " she said. "Give me thatwhip, please!"

He looked at her oddly in the growing darkness. She was trembling as shestood, but she held her ground. 

"Please!" she repeated with resolution. 

With an abrupt movement he put the weapon into her hand. "Are you goingto give me a taste?" he asked. 

She uttered a queer little gasping laugh. "No. I--I'm not that sort. But--it's horrible to see a man lose control of himself. And to thrash adog--like that!"

She turned sharply from him and went to the Dalmatian who crouchedquaking on the path. He wagged an ingratiating tail at her approach. Itwas evident that in her hand the whip had no terrors for him. He creptfawning to her feet. 

She stooped over him, fondling his head. "Oh, poor boy! Poor boy!" shesaid. 

The dog's master came and stood beside her. "He'll be all right, " hesaid, in a tone of half-surly apology. 

"I'm afraid Mike has bitten him, " she said. "See!" displaying a long, dark streak on Caesar's neck. 

"He'll be all right, " repeated Caesar's master. "I hope your dog is nonethe worse. "

"No, I don't think so, " she said. "But don't you think we ought tobathe this?"

"I'll take him home, " he said. "They'll see to him at the stables. "

She stood up, a slim, erect figure, the whip still firmly grasped in herhand. "You won't thrash him any more, will you?" she said. 

He gave a short laugh. "No, you have cooled me down quite effectually. I'm much obliged to you for interfering. And I'm sorry I used language, but as the circumstances were exceptional, I hope you will makeallowances. "

His tone was boyish still, but all the resentment had gone out of it. There was a touch of arrogance in his bearing which was obviously naturalto him, but his apology was none the less sincere. 

The slim figure on the path made a slight movement of dismay. "But youmust be drenched to the skin!" she said. "I was forgetting. Won't youcome in and get dry?"

He hunched his shoulders expressively. "No, thanks. It was my own fault, as you kindly omit to mention. I must be getting back to the Abbey. Mygrandfather is expecting me. He fidgets if I'm late. "

He raised a hand to his cap, and would have turned away, but she made aswift gesture of surprise, which arrested him. "Oh, you are young Mr. Evesham!--I beg your pardon--you are Mr. Evesham! I thought I must haveseen you before!"

He stopped with a laugh. "I am commonly called 'Master Piers' in thisneighbourhood. They won't let me grow up. Rather a shame, what? I'mnearly twenty-five, and the head-keeper still refers to me in private as'that dratted boy. '"

She laughed for the first time. Possibly he had angled for that laugh. "Yes, it is a shame!" she agreed. "But then Sir Beverley is rather old, isn't he? No doubt it's the comparison that does it. "

"He isn't old, " said Piers Evesham in sharp contradiction. "He's onlyseventy-four. That's not old for an Evesham. He'll go for another twentyyears. There's a saying in our family that if we don't die violently, wenever die at all. " He pulled himself up abruptly. "I've given you my nameand history. Won't you tell me yours?"

She hesitated momentarily. "I am only the mother's help at the Vicarage, "she said then. 

"By Jove! I don't envy you. " He looked at her with frank interestnotwithstanding. "I suppose you do it for a living, " he remarked. "Personally, I'd sooner sweep a crossing than live in the same house withthat mouthing parson. "

"Hush!" she said, but her lips smiled as she said it, a small smile thatwould not be denied. "I must go in now. Here you are!" She gave him backhis whip. "Good-bye! Get home quick--and change!"

He turned half-reluctantly; then paused. "You might tell me your nameanyway, " he said. 

She had begun to move away, light-footed, swift as a bird. Shealso paused. 

"My name is Denys, " she said. 

He put his hand to his cap again. "Miss Denys?"

"No. Mrs. Denys. Good-bye!"

She was gone. He heard the light feet running up the wet gravel drive andthen the quick opening of a door. It closed again immediately, withdecision, and he stood alone in the wintry dusk. 

Caesar crept to him and grovelled abjectly in the mud. The young manstood motionless, staring at the Vicarage gates, a slight frown betweenhis brows. He was not tall, but he had the free pose of an athlete andthe bearing of a prince. 

Suddenly he glanced down at his cringing companion and broke into alaugh. "Get up, Caesar, you fool! And think yourself lucky that you'vegot any sound bones left! You'd have been reduced to a jelly by this timeif I'd had my way. "

He bent with careless good-nature, and patted the miscreant; then turnedtowards his horse. 

"Poor old Pompey! A shame to keep you standing! All that brute's fault. "He swung himself into the saddle. "By Jove, though, she's got somepluck!" he said. "I like a woman with pluck!"

He touched his animal with the spur, and in a moment they were speedingthrough the gathering dark at a brisk canter. Pompey was as anxious toget home as was his master, and he needed no second urging. He scarcelywaited to get within the gates of the Park before he gathered himselftogether and went like the wind. His rider lay forward in the saddleand yelled encouragement like a wild Indian. Caesar raced behind themlike a hare. 

The mad trio went like a flash past old Marshall the head-keeper whostood gun on shoulder at the gate of his lodge and looked after them withstern disapproval. 

"Drat the boy! What's he want to ride hell-for-leather like that for?" hegrumbled. "He'll go and kill himself one of these days as his father didbefore him. "

It was just twenty-five years since Piers' father had been carried deadinto Marshall's cottage, and Marshall had stumped up the long avenue tobear the news to Sir Beverley. Piers was about the same age now as thatother Piers had been, and Marshall had no mind to take part in a similartragedy. It had been a bitter task, that of telling Sir Beverley that hisonly son was dead; but to have borne him ill tidings of his grandsonwould have been infinitely harder. For Sir Beverley had never loved hisson through the whole of his brief, tempestuous life; but his grandsonwas the very core of his existence, as everyone knew, despite hisstrenuous efforts to disguise the fact. 

No, emphatically Marshall had not the faintest desire to have to informthe old man that harm had befallen Master Piers, and his frown deepenedas he trudged up his little garden and heard the yelling voice andgalloping hoofs grow faint in the distance. 

"The boy is madder even than his father was, " he muttered darkly. "Badstock! Bad stock!"

He shook his head over the words, and went within. He was the only manleft on the estate who could remember the beautiful young Italian bridewhom Sir Beverley had once upon a time brought to reign there. It hadbeen a short, short reign, and no one spoke of it now, --least of all theold, bent man who ruled like a feudal lord at Rodding Abbey, and of whomeven the redoubtable Marshall himself stood in awe. 

But Marshall remembered her well, and it was upon that dazzling memorythat his thoughts dwelt when he gave utterance to his mysterious verdict. For was not Master Piers the living image of her? Had he not the sameimperial bearing and regal turn of the head? Did not the Evesham bloodrun the hotter in his veins for that passionate Southern strain thatmingled with it?

Marshall sometimes wondered how Sir Beverley with his harsh intolerancebrooked the living likeness of the boy to the woman in whose bittermemory he hated all women. It was scarcely possible that he blindedhimself to it. It was too vividly apparent for that. "A perpetualeyesore, " Marshall termed it in private. But then there was no accountingfor the ways of folk in high places. Marshall did not pretend tounderstand them. He was, in his own grumpy fashion, sincerely attached tohis master, and he never presumed to criticize his doings. He onlywondered at them. 

As for Master Piers, he had been an unmitigated nuisance to himpersonally ever since he had learned to walk alone. Marshall had alwaysdisapproved of him, and he hated Victor, the French valet, who hadbrought him up from his cradle. Yet deep in his surly old heart therelurked a certain grudging affection for him notwithstanding. The boyhad a winning way with him, and but for his hatred of Victor, who wassoft and womanish, but extremely tenacious, Marshall would have likedto have had a hand in his upbringing. As it was, he could only look onfrom afar and condemn the vagaries of "that dratted boy, " prophesyingdisaster whenever he saw him and hoping that Sir Beverley might notlive to see it. Certainly it seemed as if Piers bore a charmed life, for, like his father before him, he risked it practically every day. With sublime self-confidence, he laughed at caution, ever choosing theshortest cut, whatever it might entail; and it was remarkably seldomthat he came to grief. 

As he clattered into the stable-yard on that dark November evening, his face was sparkling with excitement as though he had drunk strongwine. The animal he rode was covered with foam, and danced a springywar-dance on the stones. Caesar trotted in behind them with tail erectand a large smile of satisfaction on his spotty face despite the gorystreak upon his neck. 

"Confound it! I'm late!" said Piers, throwing his leg over his horse'sneck. "It's all that brute's fault. Look at him grinning! Better wash himone of you! He can't come in in that state. " He slipped to the ground andstamped his sodden feet. "I'm not much better off myself. What a beastlynight, to be sure!"

"Yes, you're wet, sir!" remarked the groom at Pompey's head. "Had atumble, sir?"

"No. Had a jug of water thrown over me, " laughed Piers. "Caesar will tellyou all about it. He's been sniggering all the way home. " He snapped hisfingers in the dog's complacent face. "By Jove!" he said to him, "Icouldn't grin like that if I'd had the thrashing you've had. And Icouldn't kiss the hand that did it either. You're a gentleman, Caesar, and I humbly apologize. Look after him, Phipps! He's been a bit mauled. Good-night! Good-night, Pompey lad! You've carried me well. " He pattedthe horse's foam-flecked neck, and turned away. 

As he left the stable-yard, he was whistling light-heartedly, and Phippsglanced at a colleague with a slight flicker of one eyelid. 

"Wonder who chucked that jug of water!" he said. 

CHAPTER II

CONCERNING FOOLS

In the huge, oak-panelled hall of the Abbey, Sir Beverley Eveshamsat alone. 

A splendid fire of logs blazed before him on the open hearth, and thelight from a great chandelier beat mercilessly down upon him. His hairwas thick still and silvery white. He had the shoulders of a strong man, albeit they were slightly bowed. His face, clean-shaven, aristocratic, was the colour of old ivory. The thin lips were quite bloodless. They hada downward, bitter curve, as though they often sneered at life. The eyeswere keen as a bird's, stone-grey under overhanging black brows. 

He held a newspaper in one bony hand, but he was not apparently reading, for his eyes were fixed. The shining suits of armour standing likesentinels on each side of the fireplace were not more rigid than he. 

There came a slight sound from the other end of the hall, and instantlyand very sharply Sir Beverley turned his head. 

"Piers!"

Cheerily Piers' voice made answer. He shut the door behind him and cameforward as he spoke. "Here I am, sir! I'm sorry I'm late. You shouldn'thave waited. You never ought to wait. I'm never in at the right time. "

"Confound you, why aren't you then?" burst forth Sir Beverley. "It's easyto say you're sorry, isn't it?"

"Not always, " said Piers. 

He came to the old man, bent down over him, slid a boyish arm aroundthe bent shoulders. "Don't be waxy!" he coaxed. "I couldn't help itthis time. "

"Get away, do!" said Sir Beverley, jerking himself irritably from him. "Idetest being pawed about, as you very well know. In Heaven's name, haveyour tea, if you want it! I shan't touch any. It's past my time. "

"Oh, rot!" said Piers. "If you don't, I shan't. "

"Yes, you will. " Sir Beverley pointed an imperious hand towards a tableon the other side of the fire. "Go and get it and don't be a fool!"

"I'm not a fool, " said Piers. 

"Yes, you are--a damn fool!" Sir Beverley returned to his newspaper withthe words. "And you'll never be anything else!" he growled into thesilence that succeeded them. 

Piers clattered the tea-things and said nothing. There was no resentmentvisible upon his sensitive, olive face, however. He looked perfectlycontented. He turned round after a few seconds with a cup of steaming teain his hand. He crossed the hearth and set it on the table at SirBeverley's elbow. 

"That's just as you like it, sir, " he urged. "Have it--just toplease me!"

"Take it away!" said Sir Beverley, without raising his eyes. 

"It's only ten minutes late after all, " said Piers, with all meekness. "Iwish you hadn't waited, though it was jolly decent of you. You weren'tanxious of course? You know I always turn up some time. "

"Anxious!" echoed Sir Beverley. "About a cub like you! You flatteryourself, my good Piers. "

Piers laughed a little and stooped over the blaze. Sir Beverley read onfor a few moments, then very suddenly and not without violence crumpledhis paper and flung it on the ground. 

"Of all the infernal, ridiculous twaddle!" he exclaimed. "Now what thedevil have you done to yourself? Been taking a water-jump?"

Piers turned round. "No, sir. It's nothing. I shouldn't have come in inthis state, only it was late, and I thought I'd better report myself. "

"Nothing!" repeated Sir Beverley. "Why, you're drenched to the skin! Goand change! Go and change! Don't stop to argue! Do you hear me, sir? Goand change!"

He shouted the last words, and Piers flung round on his heel with a hintof impatience. 

"And behave yourself!" Sir Beverley threw after him. "If you think I'llstand any impertinence from you, you were never more mistaken in yourlife. Be off with you, you cheeky young hound! Don't let me see you againtill you're fit to be seen!"

Piers departed without a backward look. His lips were slightly compressedas he went up the stairs, but before he reached his own room they weresoftly whistling. 

Victor, the valet, who was busily employed in laying out his eveningclothes, received him with hands upraised in horror. 

_"Ah, mais, Monsieur Pierre_, how you are wet!"

"Yes, I want a bath, " said Piers. "Get it quick! I must be down again inten minutes. So scurry, Victor, my lad!"

Victor was a cheery little rotundity of five-and-fifty. He had had thecare of Piers ever since the first fortnight of that young man'sexistence, and he worshipped him with a whole-hearted devotion that wasin its way sublime. In his eyes Piers could do no wrong. He was in factdearer to him than his own flesh and blood. 

He prepared the bath with deft celerity, and hastened back to assist inremoving his young master's boots. He exclaimed dramatically upon theirsoaked condition, but Piers was in too great a hurry to give any detailsregarding the cause of his plight. He whirled into the bathroom atexpress speed, and was out again almost before Victor had had time tocollect his drenched garments. 

Ten minutes after his departure he returned to the hall, the gaywhistle still on his lips, and trod a careless measure to its tune ashe advanced. 

Sir Beverley got up stiffly from his knees on the hearth-rug and turned ascowling face. "Well, are you decent now?"

"Quite, " said Piers. He smiled as he said it, a boyish disarming smile. "Have you had your tea, sir? Oh, I say what a brick you are! I didn'texpect that. "

His eyes, travelling downwards, had caught sight of a cup pushed close tothe blaze, and a plate of crumpets beside it. 

"Or deserve it, " said Sir Beverley grimly. 

Piers turned impulsively and took him by the shoulders. "You're a dearold chap!" he said. "Thanks awfully!"

Against its will the hard old mouth relaxed. "There, boy, there! What aninfant you are! Sit down and have it for goodness' sake! It'll bedinner-time before you've done. "

"You've had yours?" said Piers. 

"Oh, yes--yes!" Irritation made itself heard again in Sir Beverley'svoice; he freed himself from his grandson's hold, though not urgently. "I'm not so keen on your precious tea, " he said, seating himself again. "It's only young milksops like you that have made it fashionable. When Iwas young--"

"Hullo!" broke in Piers. He had picked up the cup of tea and was sniffingit suspiciously. "You've been doctoring this!" he said. 

"You drink it!" ordered Sir Beverley peremptorily. "I'm not going tohave you laid up with rheumatic fever if I know it. Drink it, Piers! Doyou hear?"

Piers looked for a moment as if he were on the verge of rebellion, thenabruptly he raised the cup to his lips and drained it. He set it downwith a shudder of distaste. 

"You might have let me have it separately, " he remarked. "Tea and brandydon't blend well. I shall sleep like a hog after this. Besides, Ishouldn't have had rheumatic fever. It's not my way. Anything in thepaper to-night?"

"Yes, " said Sir Beverley disgustedly. "There's that prize-fightbusiness. "

"What's that?" Piers looked up with quick interest. 

"Surely you saw it!" returned Sir Beverley. "That fellowAdderley--killed his man in a wrestling-match. A good many people saidit was done by a foul. "

"Adderley!" repeated Piers. "I know him. He gave me some quite usefultips once. What happened? It's the first I've heard of it. "

"Well, he's a murderer, " said Sir Beverley. "And he deserves to behanged. He killed his man, --whether by a foul or not I can't say; butanyway he meant to kill him. It's obvious on the face of it. But theychose to bring it in manslaughter, and he's only got five years; whilesome brainless fool must needs write an article a column and a half longto protest against the disgraceful practice of permitting wrestling orboxing matches, which are a survival of the Dark Ages and a perpetualmenace to our civilization! A survival of your grandmother! A nice set ofnincompoops the race will develop into if such fools as that get theirway! We're soft enough as it is, Heaven knows. Why couldn't they hang thescoundrel as he deserved? That's the surest way of putting an end tosavagery. But to stop the sport altogether! It would be tomfoolery!"

Piers picked up the paper from the floor and smoothed it out. Heproceeded to study it with drawn brows, and Sir Beverley sat andwatched him with that in his stone-grey eyes which no one was everallowed to see. 

"Eat your crumpets, boy!" he said at last. 

"What?" Piers glanced up momentarily. "Oh, all right, sir, in a minute. This is rather an interesting case, what? You see, Adderley was afriend of mine. "

"When did you meet him?" demanded Sir Beverley. 

"I knew him in my school-days. He spent a whole term in theneighbourhood. It was just before I left for my year of travel. I got toknow him rather well. He gave me several hints on wrestling. "

"Did he teach you how to break your opponent's neck?" asked SirBeverley drily. 

Piers made a slight, scarcely perceptible movement of one hand. Itclenched upon the paper he held. "They were--worth knowing, " he said, with his eyes upon the sheet. "But I should have thought he was too old ahand himself to get into trouble. "

Sir Beverley grunted. Piers read on. At the end of a lengthy pause helaid the paper aside. "I'm beastly rude, " he remarked. "Have a crumpet!"

"Eat 'em yourself!" said Sir Beverley. "I hate 'em!"

Piers picked up the plate and began to eat. He stared at the blaze as hedid so, obviously lost in thought. 

"Don't dream!" said Sir Beverley sharply. 

He turned his eyes upon his grandfather's face--those soft Italian eyesof his so suggestive of hidden fire. "I wasn't--dreaming, " he saidslowly. "I wonder why you think Adderley ought to be hanged. "

"Because he's a murderer, " snapped Sir Beverley. 

"Yes; but--" said Piers, and became silent as though he were followingout some train of thought. 

"Go on, boy! Finish!" commanded Sir Beverley. "I detest a sentence leftin the middle. "

"I was only thinking, " said Piers deliberately, "that hanging in myopinion is much the easier sentence of the two. I should ask to be hangedif I were Adderley. "

"Would you indeed?" Sir Beverley sounded supremely contemptuous. 

But Piers did not seem to notice. "Besides, there are so manymurderers in the world, " he said, "though it's only the few who getpunished. I'm sorry for the few myself. Its damned bad luck, humannature being what it is. "

"You don't know what you're talking about, " said Sir Beverley. 

"All right; let's talk about something else, " said Piers. "Caesar had aglorious mill with that Irish terrier brute at the Vicarage thisafternoon. I couldn't separate 'em, so I just joined in. We'd have beenat it now if we had been left to our own devices. " He broke into hissudden boyish laugh. "But a kind lady came out of the Vicarage garden andflung the contents of a bedroom jug over the three of us. Rather pluckyof her, what? I'm afraid I wasn't over-complimentary at the moment, butI've had time since to appreciate her tact and presence of mind. I'mgoing over to thank her to-morrow. "

"Who was it?" growled Sir Beverley suspiciously. "Not that little whiteowl, Mrs. Lorimer?"

"Mrs. Lorimer! Great Scott, no! She'd have squealed and run to theReverend Stephen for protection. No, this was a woman, not an owl. Hername is Denys--Mrs. Denys she was careful to inform me. They've started amother's help at the Vicarage. None too soon I should say. Who wouldn'tbe a mother's help in that establishment?"

Sir Beverley uttered a dry laugh. "Daresay she knows how to feather herown nest. Most of 'em do. "

"She knows how to keep her head in an emergency, anyhow, " remarked Piers. 

"Feline instinct, " jeered Sir Beverley. 

Piers looked across with a laugh in his dark eyes. "And feline pluck, sir, " he maintained. 

Sir Beverley scowled at him. He could never brook an argument. "Oh, getaway, Piers!" he said. "You talk like a fool. "

Piers turned his whole attention to devouring crumpets, and there fell alengthy silence. He rose finally to set down his empty plate and helphimself to some more tea. 

"That stuff is poisonous by now, " said Sir Beverley. 

"It won't poison me, " said Piers. 

He drank it, and returned to the hearth-rug. "I suppose I may smoke?" hesaid, with a touch of restraint. 

Sir Beverley was lying back in his chair, gazing straight up at him. Suddenly he reached out a trembling hand. 

"You're a good boy, Piers, " he said. "You may do any damn thing youlike. "

Piers' eyes kindled in swift response. He gripped the extendedhand. "You're a brick, sir!" he said. "Look here! Come along tothe billiard-room and have a hundred up! It'll give you anappetite for dinner. "

He hoisted the old man out of his chair before he could begin to protest. They stood together before the great fire, and Sir Beverley straightenedhis stiff limbs. He was half a head taller than his grandson. 

"What a fellow it is!" he said half laughing. "Why can't you sit stilland be quiet? Don't you want to read the paper? I've done with it. "

"So have I, " said Piers. He swept it up with one hand as he spoke andtossed it recklessly on to the blaze. "Come along, sir! We haven'tmuch time. "

"Now what did you do that for?" demanded Sir Beverley, pausing. "Do youwant to set the house on fire? What did you do it for, Piers?"

"Because I was a fool, " said Piers with sudden, curious vehemence. "Adamn fool sir, if you want to know. But it's done now. Let it burn!"

The paper flared fiercely and crumbled to ashes. Sir Beverley sufferedhimself to be drawn away. 

"You're a queer fellow, Piers, " he said. "But, taking 'em altogether, Ishould say there are a good many bigger fools in the world than you. "

"Thank you, sir, " said Piers. 

CHAPTER III

DISCIPLINE

"Mrs. Denys, may I come in?" Jeanie Lorimer's small, delicate face peepedround the door. "I've brought my French exercise to do, " she saidhalf-apologetically. "I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind. "

"Of course come in, dear child! I like to have you. " The mother's helppaused in her rapid stitching to look up with a smile at the pretty, brown-haired child. "Come close to the light!" she said. "I hope it isn'ta very long one; is it?"

"It is--rather, " Jeanie sighed a sharp, involuntary sigh. "I ought tohave done it sooner, but I was busy with the little ones. Is thatGracie's frock you're mending? What an awful tear!" She came and stood byMrs. Denys's side, speaking in a low, rather monotonous voice. A heavystrand of her hair fell over the work as she bent to look; she tossed itback with another sigh. "Gracie is such a tomboy, " she said. "It's apity, isn't it?"

"My dear, you're tired, " said Mrs. Denys gently. She put a motherly armabout the slim body that leaned against her, looking up into the paleyoung face with eyes of kindly criticism. 

"A little tired, " said Jeanie. 

"I shouldn't do that exercise to-night if I were you, " said Mrs. Denys. "You will find it easier in the morning. Lie down on the sofa here andhave a little rest till supper time!"

"Oh no, I mustn't, " said Jeanie. "Father will never let any of us go tobed till the day's work is done. "

"But surely, when you're really tired--" began Mrs. Denys. 

But Jeanie shook her head. "No; thank you very much, I must do it. Olivedid hers long ago. "

"Where is Olive?" asked Mrs. Denys. 

"She's reading a story-book downstairs. We may always read when we'vefinished our lessons. " Again came that short, unconscious sigh. Jeaniewent to the table and sat down. "Mother is rather upset to-night, " shesaid, as she turned the leaves of her book. "Ronald and Julian have beensmoking, and she is so afraid that Father will find out. I hope hewon't--for her sake. But if they don't eat any supper, he is sure tonotice. He flogged Julian two nights running the last time because hetold a lie about it. "

A quick remark rose to her listener's lips, but it was suppressedunuttered. Mrs. Denys began to stitch very rapidly with her face bentover her work. It was a very charming face, with level grey eyes, wideapart, and a mouth of great sweetness. There was a fugitive dimple on oneside of it that gave her a girlish appearance when she smiled. But shewas not a girl. There was about her an air of quiet confidence as of onewho knew something of the world and its ways. She was young still, and itwas yet in her to be ardent; but she had none of the giddy restlessnessof youth. Avery Denys was a woman who had left her girlhood wholly behindher. Her enthusiasms and her impulses were kindled at a steadier flamethan the flickering torch of youth. There was no romance left in herlife, but yet was she without bitterness. She had known suffering andfaced it unblanching. The only mark it had left upon her was that air ofwomanly knowledge that clothed her like a garment even in her lightestmoods. Of a quick understanding and yet quicker sympathy, she hadlearned to hold her emotions in check, and the natural gaiety of her hidmuch that was too sacred to be carelessly displayed. She had a readysense of humour that had buoyed her up through many a storm, and thebrave heart behind it never flinched from disaster. As her father hadsaid of her in the long-ago days of happiness and prosperity, she tookher hedges straight. 

For several minutes after Jeanie's weary little confidence, she workedin silence; then suddenly, with needle poised, she looked across atthe child. 

Jeanie's head was bent over her exercise-book. Her hair lay in a heavymass all about her shoulders. There was a worried frown between herbrows. Slowly her hand travelled across the page, paused, wrote a word ortwo, paused again. 

Suddenly from the room above them there came the shrill shriek of aviolin. It wailed itself into silence, and then broke forth again in aseries of long drawn-out whines. Jeanie sighed. 

Avery laid down her work with quiet decision, and went to her side. "Whatis worrying you, dear?" she asked gently. "I'm not a great Frenchscholar, but I think I may be able to help. "

"Thank you, " said Jeanie, in her voice of tired courtesy. "You mustn'thelp me. No one must. "

"I can find the words you don't know in the dictionary, " said Avery. 

"No, thank you, " said Jeanie. "Father doesn't like us to have help ofany kind. "

There were deep shadows about the eyes she raised to Avery's face, butthey smiled quite bravely, with all unconscious wistfulness. 

Avery laid a tender hand upon the brown head and drew it to rest againsther. "Poor little thing!" she said compassionately. 

"But I'm not little really, you know, " said Jeanie, closing her eyes fora few stolen moments. "I'm thirteen in March. And they're all youngerthan me except Ronnie and Julian. "

Avery bent with a swift, maternal movement and kissed the blue-veinedforehead. Jeanie opened her eyes in slight surprise. Quite plainly shewas not accustomed to sudden caresses. 

"I'm glad we've got you, Mrs. Denys, " she said, with her quiet air ofchildish dignity. "You are a great help to us. "

She turned back to her French exercise with the words, and Avery, after amoment's thought, turned to the door. She heard again the child's sigh ofweariness as she closed it behind her. 

The wails of the violin were very audible in the passage outside. Sheshivered at the atrocious sounds. From a further distance there came thescreams of an indignant baby and the strident shouts of two small boyswho were racing to and fro in an uncarpeted room at the top of the house. But after that one shiver Avery Denys had no further attention to bestowupon any of these things. She went with her quick, light tread down tothe square hall which gave a suggestion of comfort to the Vicarage whichnot one of its rooms endorsed. 

Without an instant's hesitation she knocked upon the first door she cameto. A voice within gave her permission to enter, and she did so. 

The Reverend Stephen Lorimer turned from his writing-table with a face ofdignified severity to receive her, but at sight of her his expressionchanged somewhat. 

"Ah, Mrs. Denys! You, is it? Pray come in!" he said urbanely. "Is thereany way in which I can be of service to you?"

His eyes were dark and very small, so small that they nearly disappearedwhen he smiled. But for this slight defect, Mr. Lorimer would have been ahandsome man. He rose as Avery approached and placed a chair for her withelaborate courtesy. 

"Thank you, " she said. "I only ran in for a moment--just to tell youthat little Jeanie is so tired to-night. She has had no time for herlessons all the afternoon because she has been helping with the littleones in the nursery. She insists upon doing her French exercise, but I amsure you would not wish her to do it if you knew how worn out the childis. May I tell her to leave it for to-night?"

She spoke quickly and very earnestly, with clear eyes raised to Mr. Lorimer's face. She watched his smile fade and his eyes reappear as shemade her appeal. 

He did not reply to it for some seconds, and a sharp doubt went throughher. She raised her brows in mute interrogation. 

"Yes, my dear Mrs. Denys, " he said, in response to her unspoken query, "Isee that you appreciate the fact that there are at least two points ofview to every proposition. You tell me that Jeanie was occupied in thenursery during that period of the day which should legitimately have beenset aside for the assimilation of learning. I presume her presence therewas voluntary?"

"Oh, quite. " There was a hint of sharpness in Avery's rejoinder. "Shewent out of the goodness of her heart because Nurse had been uppractically all night with Baby and needed a rest and I was obliged to gointo Wardenhurst for Mrs. Lorimer. So Jeanie took charge of Bertie andDavid, and Gracie and Pat went with me. "

Mr. Lorimer waved a protesting hand. "Pray spare yourself and me allthese details, Mrs. Denys! I am glad to know that Jeanne has been usefulto you, but at the same time she has no right to offer duty upon thealtar of kindness. You will acknowledge that to obey is better thansacrifice. As a matter of principle, I fear I cannot remit any of hertask, and I trust that on the next occasion she will remember to setduty first. "

A hot flush had risen in Avery's face and her eyes sparkled, but sherestrained herself. There was no indignation in her voice as she said:"Mr. Lorimer, believe me, that child will never shirk her duty. She isfar too conscientious. It is really for the sake of her health that Icame to beg you to let her off that French exercise. I am sure she is notstrong. Perhaps I did wrong to let her be in the nursery this afternoon, though I scarcely know how else we could have managed. But that is myfault, not hers. I take full responsibility for that. "

Mr. Lorimer began to smile again. "That is very generous of you, " hesaid. "But, as a matter of justice, I doubt if the whole burden of itshould fall to your share. You presumably were unaware that Jeanne'safternoon should have been devoted to her studies. She cannot plead alike ignorance. Therefore, while dismissing the petition, I hold youabsolved from any blame in the matter. Pray do not distress yourselfany further!"

"I certainly thought it was a half-holiday, " Avery admitted. "But I amdistressed--very greatly distressed--on the child's account. She is notfit for work to-night. "

Mr. Lorimer made an airy gesture expressive of semi-humorous regret. "Discipline, my dear Mrs. Denys, must be maintained at all costs--evenamong the members of your charming sex. As a matter of fact, I am waitingto administer punishment to one of my sons at the present moment for anact of disobedience. "

He glanced towards the writing-table on which lay a cane, and again thequick blood mounted in Avery's face. 

"Oh, don't you think you are a little hard on your children?" she said;and then impulsively, "No; forgive me! I ought not to put it like that. But do you find it answers to be so strict? Does it make them any moreobedient?"

He raised his shoulders slightly; his eyes gleamed momentarily ere theyvanished into his smile. He shook his head at her with tolerant irony. "Ifear your heart runs away with you, Mrs. Denys, and I must not suffermyself to listen to you. I have my duty--my very distinct duty--toperform, and I must not shirk it. As to the results, they are in otherHands than mine. "

There came a low knock at the door as he finished speaking, and he turnedat once to answer it. 

"Come in!"

The door opened, and a very small, very nervous boy crept round it. Aquick exclamation rose to Avery's lips before she could suppress it. Mr. Lorimer looked at her interrogatively. 

"I was only surprised to see Pat, " she explained. "He has been withme all the afternoon. I hardly thought he could have had time to getinto trouble. "

"Come here, Patrick!" said Mr. Lorimer. 

Patrick advanced. He looked neither at Avery nor his father, but kept hiseyes rigidly downcast. His freckled face had a half-frightened, half-sullen expression. He halted before Mr. Lorimer who took him by theshoulder, and turned him round towards Avery. 

"Tell Mrs. Denys what you did!" he said. 

Pat shot a single glance upwards, and made laconic reply. "I undid Mike. "

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Avery in great distress. "I'm afraid that wasmy fault. "

"Yours, Mrs. Denys?" Mr. Lorimer's eyes became visible as two brilliantpin-points turned searchingly upon her face. 

"Yes, mine!" she reiterated. "Mike was whining on his chain, and I said Ithought it was cruel to keep a dog tied up. I suppose I ought to havekept my thoughts to myself, " she said with a pathetic little smile. "Doplease forgive us both this time!"

Mr. Lorimer ignored the appeal. "And do you know what happened inconsequence of his being liberated?" he asked. 

"Yes, I do. " Ruefully she made answer. "He fought Mr. Evesham's dog and Ihelped to pull him off. "

"You, Mrs. Denys!"

"Yes, I. " She nodded. "There wasn't much damage done, anyhow to Mike. Iam very, very sorry, Mr. Lorimer. But really Pat is not to blame forthis. Won't you--please--"

She stopped, for very decidedly Mr. Lorimer interrupted her. "I am afraidI cannot agree with you, Mrs. Denys. You may have spoken unadvisedly, butPatrick was aware that in releasing the dog he was acting in directopposition to my orders. Therefore he must bear his own punishment. Imust beg that for the future you will endeavour to be a little morediscreet in your observations. Patrick, open the door for Mrs. Denys!"

It was a definite dismissal--perhaps the most definite that Avery hadever had in her life. A fury of resentment possessed her, but feeling herself-control to be tottering, she dared not give it vent. She turned inquivering silence and departed. 

As she went out of the room, she perceived that Pat had begun to cry. 

CHAPTER IV

THE MOTHER'S HELP

"It's always the same, " moaned Mrs. Lorimer. "My poor children! They'renever out of trouble. " Avery stood still. She had fled to thedrawing-room to recover herself, only to find the lady of the house lyingin tears upon the sofa there. Mrs. Lorimer was very small and pathetic. She had lost all her health long before in the bearing and nurturing ofher children. Once upon a time she must have possessed the delicateprettiness that characterized her eldest daughter Jeanie, but it hadfaded long since. She was worn out now, a tired, drab little woman, withno strength left to stand against adversity. The only consolation in herlife was her love for her husband. Him she worshipped, not whollyblindly, but with a devotion that never faltered. A kind word from himwas capable of exalting her to a state of rapture that was onlyout-matched by the despair engendered by his displeasure. There was somuch of sorrow mingled with her love for her children that they couldscarcely have been regarded as a joy. In fact Avery often thought toherself how much happier she would have been without them. 

"Do sit down, Mrs. Denys!" she begged nervously, as Avery remainedmotionless in the middle of the room. "Stay with me for a little, won'tyou? I can never bear to be alone when any of the children are beingpunished. I sometimes think Pat is the worst of all. He is so highlystrung, and he loses his head. And Stephen doesn't quite understandhim, and he is so terribly severe when they rebel. And did you knowthat Ronald and Julian had been smoking again on the way back fromschool? They look so dreadfully ill, both of them. I know their fatherwill find out. "

Mrs. Lorimer's whispered words went into soft weeping. She hid her facein the cushion. 

A curious little spasm went through Avery, and for a few mad seconds shewanted to burst into heartless laughter. She conquered the impulse with adesperate effort though it left her feeling slightly hysterical. 

She moved across to the forlorn little woman and stooped over her. 

"Don't cry, dear Mrs. Lorimer!" she urged. "It doesn't do anygood. Perhaps Ronald and Julian are better by now. Shall we goupstairs and see?"

The principle was a wrong one and she knew it, but for the life of hershe could not have resisted the temptation at that moment. She had anunholy desire to get the better of the Reverend Stephen which would notbe denied. 

Mrs. Lorimer checked her tears. "You're very kind, " she murmured shakily. 

She dried her eyes and sat up. "Do you think it would be wrong to givethem a spoonful of brandy?" she asked wistfully. 

But Avery's principles were proof against this at least. "Yes, I do, " shesaid. "But we can manage quite well without it. Let us go, shall we, andsee what can be done?"

"I'm afraid I'm very wicked, " sighed Mrs. Lorimer. "I'm very thankful tohave you with us, dear. I don't know what I should do without you. "

Avery's pretty mouth took an unfamiliar curve of grimness for a moment, but she banished it at once. She slipped a sustaining hand through Mrs. Lorimer's arm. 

"Thank you for saying so, though, you know, I've only been with you afortnight, and I don't feel that I have done very much to deserve suchhigh praise. "

"I don't think time has much to do with friendship, " said Mrs. Lorimer, looking at her with genuine affection in her faded blue eyes. "Do youknow I became engaged to my husband before I had known him a fortnight?"

But this was a subject upon which Avery found it difficult to express anysympathy, and she gently changed it. "You are looking very tired. Don'tyou think you could lie down for a little in your bedroom before supper?"

"I must see the poor boys first, " protested Mrs. Lorimer. 

"Yes, of course. We will go straight up, shall we?"

She led her to the door with the words, and they went out together intothe hall. As they emerged, a sudden burst of stormy crying came from thestudy. Pat was literally howling at the top of his voice. 

His mother stopped and wrung her hands. "Oh, what is to be done? Healways cries like that. He used to as a baby--the only one of them whodid. Mrs. Denys, what shall I do? I don't think I can bear it. "

Avery drew her on towards the stairs. "My dear, come away!" she saidpractically. "You can't do anything. Interference will only make mattersworse. Let us go right up to the boys' room! Pat is sure to come updirectly. "

They went to the boys' room. It was a large attic in which the threeelder boys slept. Ronald and Julian, aged fifteen and fourteenrespectively, were both lying prostrate on their beds. 

Julian uttered a forced laugh at the sight of his mother's face. "My dearMater, for Heaven's sake don't come fussing round here! We've beensmoking some filthy cigars--little beastly Brown dared us to--and there'sbeen the devil to pay. I can't get up. My tummy won't let me. "

"Oh, Julian, why do you do it?" said Mrs. Lorimer, in great distress. "You know what your father said the last time. "

She bent over him. Julian was her favourite of them all. But he turnedhis face sharply to avoid her kiss. 

"Don't, Mater! I don't feel up to it. I can't jaw either. I believe thosedashed cigars were poisoned. Hullo, Ronald, are you quieting down yet?"

"Shut up!" growled Ronald. 

His brother laughed again sardonically. "Stick to it, my hearty! There'sa swishing in store for us. The mater always gives the show away. "

"Julian!" It was Avery's voice; she spoke with quick decision. "You'vegot exactly an hour--you and Ronald--to pull yourselves together. Don'tlie here any longer! Get up and go out! Go for a hard walk! No, of courseyou don't feel like it. But it will do you good. You want to get thathorrible stuff out of your lungs. Quick! Go now--while you can!"

"But I can't!" declared Julian. 

"Yes, you can, --you must! You too, Ronald! Where are your coats? Pop themon and make a dash for it! You'll come back better. Perhaps you will getout of the swishing after all. "

Julian turned his head and looked at her by the light of the flaring, unshaded gas-jet. "By Jove!" he said. "You're rather a brick, Mrs. Denys. "

"Don't stop to talk!" she commanded. "Just get up and do as I say. Godown the back stairs, mind! I'll let you in again in time to get readyfor supper. "

Julian turned to his brother. "What do you say to it, Ron?"

"Can't be done, " groaned Ronald. 

"Oh yes, it can. " Sheer determination sounded in Avery's response. "Getup, both of you! If it makes you ill, it can't be helped. You willneither of you get any better lying here. Come, Ronald!" She went to himbriskly. "Get up! I'll help you. There! That's the way. Splendid! Nowkeep it up! don't let yourself go again! You will feel quite differentwhen you get out into the open air. "

By words and actions she urged them, Mrs. Lorimer standing patheticallyby, till finally, fired by her energy, the two miscreants actuallymanaged to make their escape without mishap. 

She ran downstairs to see them go, returning in time to receive thewailing Pat who had been sent to bed in a state verging on hysterics. Neither she nor his mother could calm him for some time, and when atlength he was somewhat comforted one of the younger boys fell down in anadjacent room and began to cry lustily. 

Avery went to the rescue, earnestly entreating Mrs. Lorimer to go down toher room and rest. She was able to soothe the sufferer and leave him tothe care of the nurse, and she then followed Mrs. Lorimer whom she foundbathing her eyes and trying not to cry. 

So piteous a spectacle was she that Avery found further formality anabsolute impossibility. She put her arm round the little woman and beggedher not to fret. 

"No, I know it's wrong, " whispered Mrs. Lorimer, yielding like a childto the kindly support. "But I can't help it sometimes. You see, I'm notvery strong--just now. " She hesitated and glanced at Avery with aguilty air. "I--I haven't told him yet, " she said in a lower whisperstill. "Of course I shall have to soon; but--I'm afraid you will thinkme very deceitful--I like to choose a favourable time, when thechildren are not worrying him quite so much. I don't want to--to vexhim more than I need. "

"My dear!" Avery said compassionately. And she added as she had added tothe daughter half an hour before, "Poor little thing!"

Mrs. Lorimer gave a feeble laugh, lifting her face. "You are a sweetgirl, Avery. I may call you that? I do hope the work won't be too muchfor you. You mustn't let me lean on you too hard. "

"You shall lean just as hard as you like, " Avery said, and, bending, kissed the tired face. "I am here to be a help to you, you know. Yes, docall me Avery! I'm quite alone in the world, and it makes it feel likehome. Now you really must lie down till supper. And you are not to worryabout anything. I am sure the boys will come back much better. There! Isthat comfortable?"

"Quite, dear, thank you. You mustn't think about me any more. Good-bye!Thank you for all your goodness to me!" Mrs. Lorimer clung to her handfor a moment. "I was always prejudiced against mothers' helps before, "she said ingenuously. "But I find you an immense comfort--an immensecomfort. You will try and stay, won't you, if you possibly can?"

"Yes, " Avery promised. "I will certainly stay--if it rests with me. "

Her lips were very firmly closed as she went out of the room and her greyeyes extremely bright. It had been a strenuous half-hour. 

CHAPTER V

LIFE ON A CHAIN

"Oh, I say, are you going out?" said Piers. "I was just coming tocall on you. "

"On me?" Avery looked at him with brows raised in surprisedinterrogation. 

He made her a graceful bow, nearly sweeping the path outside the Vicaragegate with his cap. "Even so, madam! On you! But as I perceive you are notat home to callers, may I be permitted to turn and walk beside you?"

As he suited the action to the words, it seemed superfluous to grant thepermission, and Avery did not do so. 

"I am only going to run quickly down to the post, " she said, with aglance at some letters she carried. 

He might have offered to post them for her, but such a course did notapparently occur to him. Instead he said: "I'll race you if you like. "

Avery refrained from smiling, conscious of a gay glance flung in herdirection. 

"I see you prefer to walk circumspectly, " said Piers. "Well, I can dothat too. How is Mike? Why isn't he with you?"

"Mike is quite well, thank you, " said Avery. "And he is kept chained up. "

"What an infernal shame!" burst from Piers. "I'd sooner shoot a dog thankeep him on a chain. "

"So would I!" said Avery impulsively. 

The words were out before she could check them. It was a subject uponwhich she found it impossible to maintain her reticence. 

Piers grinned triumphantly and thrust out a boyish hand. "Shake!" hesaid. "We are in sympathy!"

But Avery only shook her head at him, refusing to be drawn. "People--plenty of nice people--have no idea of the utter cruelty of it, "she said. "They think that if a dog has never known liberty, he isincapable of desiring it. They don't know, they don't realize, thebitterness of life on a chain. "

"Don't know and don't care!" declared Piers. "They deserve to be chainedup themselves. One day on a chain would teach your nice people quite alot. But no one cultivates feeling in this valley of dry bones. It isn'tthe thing nowadays. Let a dog whine his heart out on a chain! Who cares?There's no room for sentimental scruples of that sort. Can't you see theReverend Stephen smile at the bare idea of extending a little of hisprecious Christian pity to a dog?" He broke off with a laugh that rangdefiantly. "Now it's your turn!" he said. 

"My turn?" Avery glanced at his dark, handsome face with a touch ofcuriosity. 

He met her eyes with his own as if he would beat them back. "Aren't yougenerous enough to remind me that but for your timely interference Ishould have beaten my own dog to death only yesterday? You were almostready to flog me for it at the time. "

"Oh, that!" Avery said, looking away again. "Yes, of course I mightremind you of that if I wanted to be personal; but, you see, --I don't. "

"Why not!" said Piers stubbornly. "You were personal enough yesterday. "

The dimple, for which Avery was certainly not responsible, appearedsuddenly near her mouth. "I am afraid I lost my temper yesterday, " shesaid. 

"How wrong of you!" said Piers. "I hope you confessed to theReverend Stephen. "

She glanced at him again and became grave. "No, I didn't confess toanyone. But I think it's a pity ever to lose one's temper. It involves awaste of power. "

"Does it?" said Piers. 

"Yes. " She nodded with conviction. "We need all the strength we canmuster for other things. How is your dog to-day?"

Piers ignored the question. "What other things?" he demanded. 

She hesitated. 

"Go on!" said Piers imperiously. 

Avery complied half-reluctantly. "I meant--mainly--the burdens of life. We can't afford to weaken ourselves by any loss of self-control. The manwho keeps his temper is immeasurably stronger than the man who loses it. "

Piers was frowning; his dark eyes looked almost black. Suddenly he turnedupon her. "Mrs. Denys, I have a strong suspicion that your temper is asweet one. If so, you're no judge of these things. Why didn't you leatherme with my own whip yesterday? You had me at your mercy. "

Avery smiled. Plainly he was set upon a personal encounter, and she couldnot avoid it. "Well, frankly, Mr. Evesham, " she said, "I was never nearerto striking anyone in my life. "

"Then why did you forbear? You weren't afraid to souse me withcold water. "

"Oh no, " she said. "I wasn't afraid. "

"I believe you were, " maintained Piers. "You're afraid to speak your mindto me now anyway. "

She laughed a little. "No, I'm not. I really can't explain myself to you. I think you forget that we are practically strangers. "

"You talk as if I had been guilty of familiarity, " said Piers. 

"No, no! I didn't mean that, " Avery coloured suddenly, and the soft glowmade her wonderfully fair to see. "You know quite well I didn't meanit, " she said. 

"It's good of you to say so, " said Piers. "But I really didn't know. Ithought you had decided that I was a suitable subject for snubbing. I'mnot a bit. I'm so accustomed to it that I don't care a--" he paused witha glance of quizzical daring, and, as she managed to look severe, amendedthe sentence--"that I am practically indifferent to it. Mrs. Denys, Iwish you had struck me yesterday. "

"Really?" said Avery. 

"Yes, really. I should then have had the pleasure of forgiving you. It's a pleasure I don't often get. You see, I'm usually the one that'sin the wrong. "

She looked at him then with quick interest; she could not help it. Butthe dark eyes triumphed over her so shamelessly that she veiled it onthe instant. 

Piers laughed. "Mrs. Denys, may I ask a directly personal question?"

"I don't know why you should, " said Avery. 

They were nearing the pillar-box at the end of the Vicarage lane, and shewas firmly determined that at that box their ways should separate. 

"I know you think I'm bold and bad, " said Piers. "Some kind friend hasprobably told you so. But I'm not. I've been brought up badly, that'sall. I think you might bear with me. I'm quite willing to be bullied. "There was actual pathos in the declaration. 

Again the fleeting dimple hovered near Avery's mouth. "Please don't takemy opinion for granted in that way!" she said. "I have hardly had time toform one yet. "

"Then I may ask my question?" said Piers. 

She turned steady grey eyes upon him. "Yes; you may. "

Piers' face was perfectly serious. "Are you really married?" he asked. 

The level brows went up a little. "I have been a widow for six years, "said Avery very quietly. 

He stared at her in surprise unfeigned. "Six years!"

She replied in the same quiet voice. "I lost my husband when I wastwenty-two. "

"Great Heavens above!" ejaculated Piers. "But you're not--not--I say, forgive me, I must say it--you can't be as old as that!"

"I am twenty-nine, " said Avery faintly smiling. 

They had reached the letter-box. She dropped in her letters one by one. Piers stood confounded, looking on. 

Suddenly he spoke. "And you've been doing this mothers'-helping businessfor six years?"

"Oh no!" she said. 

She turned round from the box and faced him. The red winter sunset glowedsoftly upon her. Her grey eyes looked straight into it. 

"No!" she said again. "I had my little girl to take care of for the firstsix months. You see, she was born blind, soon after her father's death, and she needed all the care I could give her. "

Piers made a sharp movement--a gesture that was almost passionate; but hesaid nothing. 

Avery withdrew her eyes from the sunset, and looked at him. "She died, "she said, "and that left me with nothing to do. I have no nearrelations. So I just had to set to work to find something to occupy me. I went into a children's hospital for training, and spent some yearsthere. Then when that came to an end, I took a holiday; but I found Iwanted children. So I cast about me, and finally answered Mr. Lorimer'sadvertisement and came here. " She began to smile. "At least I haveplenty of children now. "

"Oh, I say!" broke in Piers. "What a perfectly horrible life you've had!You don't mean to say you're happy, what?"

Avery laughed. "I'm much too busy to think about it. And now I reallymust run back. I've promised to take charge of the babies this afternoon. Good-bye!" She held out her hand to him with frank friendliness, as ifshe divined the sympathy he did not utter. 

He gripped it hard for a moment. "Thanks awfully for being so decent asto tell me!" he said, looking back at her with eyes as frank as her own. "I'm going on down to the home farm. Good-bye!"

He raised his cap, and abruptly strode away. And in the moment of hisgoing Avery found she liked him better than she had liked himthroughout the interview, for she knew quite well that he went only indeference to her wish. 

She turned to retrace her steps, feeling puzzled. There was somethingcuriously attractive about the young man's personality, something thatappealed to her, yet that she felt disposed to resist. That air of theancient Roman was wonderfully compelling, too compelling for her taste, but then his boyishness counteracted it to a very great degree. There wasa hint of sweetness running through his arrogance against which she wasnot proof. Audacious he might be, but it was a winning species ofaudacity that probably no woman could condemn. She thought to herself asshe returned to her charges that she had never seen a face so faultlesslypatrician and yet so vividly alive. And following that thought cameanother that dwelt longer in her mind. Deprived of its animation, itwould not have been a happy face. 

Avery wondered why. 

CHAPTER VI

THE RACE

"Hooray! No more horrid sums for a whole month!" Gracie Lorimer'sarithmetic-book soared to the ceiling and came down with a bang whileGracie herself pivoted, not ungracefully, on her toes till sheergiddiness and exhaustion put an end to her rhapsody. Then she staggeredto Avery who was darning the family stockings by the window and flungecstatic arms about her neck. 

"Dear Mrs. Denys, aren't you glad it's holidays?" she gasped. "We'll giveyou such a lovely time!"

"I'm sure you will, dear, " said Avery. "But do mind the needle!"

She kissed the brilliant childish face that was pressed to hers. She andGracie were close friends. Gracie was eleven, and the prettiest madcap ofthem all. It was a perpetual marvel to Avery that the child managed to beso happy, for she was continually in trouble. But she seemed to possess acheery knack of throwing off adversity. She was essentially gay of heart. 

"Do put away those stupid old stockings and come out with us!" shebegged, still hanging over Avery. "Don't you hate darning? I do. We hadto do our own before you came. I was very naughty one day last summer. Iwent out and played in the garden instead of mending my stockings, andFather found out. " Gracie cast up her eyes dramatically. "He sent me into do them, and went off to one of his old parish parties; and I justsneaked out as soon as his back was turned and went on with the game. Butthere was no luck that day. He came back to fetch something and caughtme. And then--just imagine!" Again Gracie was dramatic, though this timeunconsciously. "He sent me to bed and--what do you think? When he camehome to tea, he--whipped me!"

Avery threaded her needle with care. She said nothing. 

"I think it was rather a shame, " went on Gracie unconcernedly. "Becausehe never whips Jeanie or Olive. But then, he can make them cry without, and he can't make me. I 'spect that's what made him do it, don't you?"

"I don't know, dear, " said Avery rather shortly. 

Gracie peered round into her face. "Mrs. Denys, you don't like Father, doyou?" she said. 

"My dear, that's not a nice question to ask, " said Avery, with her eyeson her work. 

"I don't know why not, " said Gracie. "I don't like him myself, and heknows I don't. He'd whip me again if he got the chance, but I'm too jollycareful now. I was pleased that you got Ronnie and Julian off the otherday. He never suspected, did he? I thought I should have burst duringprayers. It was so funny. "

"My dear!" protested Avery. 

"Yes, I know, " said Gracie. "But you aren't really shocked, dear, kindMrs. Denys! You know you aren't. I can see your sweet little dimple. No, I can't! Yes, I can! I do love your dimple. It goes in and outlike the sun. "

Avery leaned back abruptly in her chair. "Oh, foolish one!" she said, andgathered the child to her with a warmth to which the ardent Gracie wasswift to respond. 

"And you are coming out with us, aren't you? Because it's so lovely andcold. I want to go up on that big hill in Rodding Park, and run and runand run till I just can't run any longer. Ronnie and Julian are comingtoo. And Jeanie and Olive and Pat. We ought to begin and collect hollyfor the church decorations. You'll be able to help this year, won't you?Miss Whalley always bosses things. Have you met Miss Whalley yet? She'squite the funniest person in Rodding. She was the daughter of the lastVicar, and she has never forgotten it. So odd of her! As if there wereanything in it! I often wish I weren't a parson's daughter. I'd muchrather belong to someone who had to go up to town every day. There wouldbe much more fun for everybody then. "

Avery was laying her mending together. She supposed she ought to checkthe child's chatter, but felt too much in sympathy with her to do so. "Ireally don't know if I ought to come, " she said. "But it is certainly toofine an afternoon for you to waste indoors. Where are the boys?"

"Oh, they're messing about somewhere in the garden. You see, they've gotto keep out of sight or Father will set them to work to roll the lawn. Healways does that sort of thing. He calls it 'turning our youthfulenergies to good account. '" Very suddenly and wickedly Grade mimicked thepastoral tones. "But the boys call it 'nigger-driving, '" she added, "andI think the boys are right. When I'm grown up, I'll never, never, nevermake my children do horrid things like that. They shall have--oh, such agood time!"

There was unconscious pathos in the declaration. Avery looked at thebright face very tenderly. 

"I wonder what you'll do with them when they're naughty, Gracie, " shesaid. 

"I shall never whip them, " said Gracie decidedly. "I think whipping is ahorrid punishment. It makes you hate everybody. I think I shan't punishthem at all, Mrs. Denys. I shall just tell them how wrong they've been, and that they are never to do it again. And I'm sure they won't, " sheadded, with confidence. "They'll love me too much. "

She slipped her arm round Avery's waist as she rose. "Do you know I woulddreadfully like to call you Aunt Avery?" she said. "I said so to Jeanie, and Jeanie wants to too. Do you mind?"

"Mind!" said Avery. "I shall love it. "

"Oh, thank you--awfully!" Grade kissed her fervently. "I'll run and tellJeanie. She will be pleased. "

She skipped from the room, and Avery went to prepare for the walk. "Poorlittle souls!" she murmured to herself. "How I wish they were mine!"

They mustered only five when they started--the three girls, Pat, andAvery herself; but ere they had reached the end of the lane the two elderboys leapt the Vicarage wall with a whoop of triumph and joined them. Theparty became at once uproariously gay. Everyone talked at the same time, even Jeanie becoming animated. Avery rejoiced to see the pretty faceflushed and merry. She had begun to feel twinges of anxiety about Jeanielately. But she was able to banish them at least for to-day, for Jeanieran and chattered with the rest. In fact, Olive was the only one whoshowed any disposition to walk sedately. It had to be remembered thatOlive was the clever one of the family. She more closely resembled herfather than any of the others, and Avery firmly believed her to be theonly member of the family that Mr. Lorimer really loved. She was acold-hearted, sarcastic child, extremely self-contained, giving nothingand receiving nothing in return. It was impossible to become intimatewith her. Avery had given up the attempt almost at the outset, realizingthat it was not in Olive's nature to be intimate with anyone. They werealways exceedingly polite to each other, but beyond that theiracquaintance made no progress. Olive lived in a world of books, and thepractical side of life scarcely touched her, and most certainly neverappealed to her sympathy. "She will be her father over again, " Mrs. Lorimer would declare, with pathetic pride. "So dignified, so handsome, and so clever!"

And Avery agreed, not without reserve, that she certainly resembled himto a marked degree. 

She was by far the most sober member of the party that entered RoddingPark that afternoon. Avery, inspired by the merriment around her, was ina frankly frivolous mood. She was fast friends with the two elder boys, who had voted her a brick on the night that she had intervened todeliver them from the just retribution for their misdeeds. They hadconceived an immense admiration for her which placed her in a highlyprivileged position. 

"If Mrs. Denys says so, it is so, " was Ronald's fiat, and she knew thatsuch influence as he possessed with his brothers and sisters was alwaysat her disposal. 

She liked Ronald. The boy was a gentleman. Though slow, he was solid; andshe suspected that he possessed more depth of character than the morebrilliant Julian. Julian was crafty; there was no denying it. She wassure that he would get on in the world. But of Ronald's future she wasnot so sure. It seemed to her that he might plod on for ever withoutreaching his goal. He kept near her throughout that riotous scamperthrough the bare, wind-swept Park, making it plain that he regardedhimself as her lieutenant whether she required his services or not. As amatter of fact, she did not require them, but she was glad to have himthere and she keenly appreciated the gentlemanly consideration with whichhe helped her over every stile. 

They reached the high hill of Gracie's desire, and rapidly climbed it. The sun had passed over to the far west and had already begun to dip erethey reached the summit. 

"Now we'll all stand in a row and race down, " announced Gracie, whenthey reached the top. "Aunt Avery will start us. We'll run as far as thatbig oak-tree on the edge of the wood. Now line up, everybody!"

"I'm not going to do anything so silly, " said Olive decidedly. "Mrs. Denys and I will follow quietly. "

"Oh no!" laughed Avery. "You can do the starting, my dear, and I willrace with the others. "

Olive looked at her, faintly contemptuous. "Oh, of course if you preferit--" she said. 

"I do indeed!" Avery assured her. "But I think the two big boys and Iought to be handicapped. Jeanie and Gracie and Pat must go ten pacesin front. "

"I am bigger than Gracie and Pat, " said Jeanie. "I think I ought togo midway. "

"Of course, " agreed Ronald. "And, Aunt Avery, you must go with her. Youcan't start level with Julian and me. "

Avery laughed at the amendment and fell in with it. They adjustedthemselves for the trial of speed, while Olive stationed herself on amole-hill to give the signal. 

The valley below them was in deep shadow. The last of the sunlight layupon the hilltop. It shone dazzlingly in Avery's eyes as the race began. 

There had been a sprinkling of snow the day before, and the grass wascrisp and rough. She felt it crush under her feet with a keen sense ofenjoyment. Instinctively she put all her buoyant strength into the run. She left Jeanie behind, overtook and passed the two younger children, andraced like a hare down the slope. Keenly the wind whistled past her, andshe rejoiced to feel its clean purity rush into her lungs. She was forthe moment absurdly, rapturously happy, --a child amongst children. 

The sun went out of sight, and the darkness of the valley swallowed her. She sped on, fleet-footed, flushed and laughing, moving as if on wings. 

She neared the dark line of wood, and saw the stark, outstretchedbranches of the oak that was her goal. In the same instant she caughtsight of a man's figure standing beneath it, apparently waiting for her. 

He had evidently just come out of the wood. He carried a gun on hisshoulder, but the freedom of his pose was so striking that she likenedhim on the instant to a Roman gladiator. 

She could not stop herself at once though she checked her speed, and whenshe finally managed to come to a stand, she was close to him. 

He stepped forward to meet her with a royal air of welcome. "How nice ofyou to come and call on me!" he said. 

His dark eyes shone mischievously as they greeted her, and she was tooflushed and dishevelled to stand upon ceremony. Pantingly she threw backher gay reply. 

"This is the children's happy hunting ground, not mine, I suppose, if thetruth were told, we are trespassing. "

He made her his sweeping bow. "There is not a corner of this estate thatis not utterly and for ever at your service. "

He turned as the two elder boys came racing up, and she saw thehalf-mocking light go out of his eyes as they glanced up the hill. "Hullo!" he said. "There's one of them come to grief. "

Sharply she turned also. Pat and Gracie were having a spirited race downthe lower slope of the hill. Olive had begun to descend from the top withbecoming dignity. And midway, poor Jeanie crouched in a forlorn littleheap with her hands tightly covering her face. 

"The child's hurt!" exclaimed Avery. 

She started to run back, but in a moment Piers sprang past her, crying, "All right. Don't run! Take it easy!"

He himself went like the wind. She watched him with subconsciousadmiration. He was so superbly lithe and strong. 

She saw him reach Jeanie and kneel down beside her. There was nohesitation about him. He was evidently deeply concerned. He slipped apersuasive arm about the child's huddled form. 

When Avery reached them, Jeanie's head in its blue woollen cap waspillowed against him and she was telling him sobbingly of her trouble. 

"I--I caught my foot. I don't know--how I did it. It twisted rightround--and oh, it does hurt, I--I--I can't help--being silly!"

"All right, kiddie, all right!" said Piers. "It was one of thoseconfounded rabbit-holes. There! You'll be better in a minute. Got ahandkerchief, what? Oh, never mind! Take mine!"

He pulled it out and dried her eyes as tenderly as if he had been awoman; then raised his head abruptly and spoke to Avery. 

"I expect it's a sprain. I'd better get her boot off and see, what?"

"No, we had better take her home first, " said Avery with quick decision. 

"All right, " said Piers at once. "I'll carry her. I daresay she isn'tvery heavy. I say, little girl, you mustn't cry. " He patted her shoulderkindly. "It hurts horribly, I know. These things always do. But you'regoing to show me how plucky you can be. Women are always braver than men, aren't they, Mrs. Denys?"

Thus admonished, Jeanie lifted her face and made a valiant effort toregain her self-command. But she clasped her two hands very tightly uponPiers' arm so that he could not move to lift her. 

"I'll be brave in a minute, " she promised him tremulously. "You won'tmind waiting--just a minute?"

"Two, if you like, " said Piers. 

Avery was stooping over the injured foot. Jeanie was propped sideways, half-lying against Piers' knee. 

"Don't touch it, please, Aunt Avery!" she whispered. 

The other children had drawn round in an interested group. "It looks likea fracture to me, " observed Olive in her precise voice. 

Piers flashed her a withering glance. "Mighty lot you know about it!" heretorted rudely. 

Pat sniggered. He was not fond of his second sister. But his mirth waschecked by the impulsive Gracie who pushed him aside with a brief, "Don't be a pig!"

Olive retired into the background with her nose in the air, looking soabsurdly like her father that a gleam of humour shot through even Piers'sternness. He suppressed it and turned to the two elder boys. 

"Which of you is to be trusted to carry a loaded gun?"

"I am, " said Julian. 

"No--Ronald, " said Avery very firmly. 

Julian stuck out his tongue at her, and was instantly pummeled thereforby the zealous Gracie. 

"Ronald, " said Piers. "Mind how you pick it up, and don't point it atanyone! Carry it on your shoulder! That's the way. Go slow with it! Nowyou walk in front and take it down to the lodge!"

He issued his orders with the air of a commanding-officer, and havingissued them turned again with renewed gentleness to the child who layagainst his arm. 

"Now, little girl, shall we make a move? I'm afraid postponing it won'tmake it any better. I'll carry you awfully carefully. "

"Thank you, " whispered Jeanie. 

He stooped over her. "Put your arm round my neck! That'll be a help. Mrs. Denys, can you steady her foot while I get up?"

Avery bent to do so. He moved with infinite care; but even so the strainupon the foot was inevitable. Jeanie gave a sharp cry, and sank helplessin his arms. 

He began to speak encouragingly but broke off in the middle, feeling thechild's head lie limp upon his shoulder. 

"Afraid it's serious, " he said to Avery. "We will get her down to thelodge and send for a doctor. "

"By Jove! She's fainted!" remarked Julian. "It's a jolly bad sprain. "

"It's not a sprain at all, " said Olive loftily. 

And much as she would have liked to disagree, Avery knew that shewas right. 

CHAPTER VII

A FRIEND IN NEED

Mrs. Marshall at the lodge was a hard-featured old woman whose god wascleanliness. Perhaps it was hardly to be expected of her that she shouldthrow open her door to the whole party. Piers, with his limp burden, andAvery she had to admit, but after the latter's entrance she sternlyblocked the way. 

"There's no room for any more, " she declared with finality. "You'd bestrun along home. "

And with that she shut the door upon them and followed her unwelcomevisitors into her spotless parlour. 

"What's the matter with the young lady?" she enquired sourly. 

Avery answered her in her quick, friendly way. "She has had a fall, poorlittle thing, and hurt her foot--I'm afraid, badly. It's so good of youto let us bring her in here. Won't you spread a cloth to keep her bootsoff your clean chintz?"

The suggestion was what Piers described later as "a lucky hit. " It meltedold Mrs. Marshall on the instant. She hastened to comply with it, and sawJeanie laid down upon her sofa with comparative resignation. 

"She do look mortal bad, to be sure, " she remarked. 

"Can't you find some brandy?" said Piers. 

"I think she will come to, now, " Avery said. "Yes, look! Her eyesare opening. "

She was right. Jeanie's eyes opened very wide and fixed themselvesenquiringly upon Piers' face. There was something in them, a species ofdumb appeal, that went straight to his heart. He moved impulsively, andknelt beside her. 

Jeanie's hand came confidingly forth to him. "I did try to be brave, " shewhispered. 

Piers' hand closed instantly and warmly upon hers. "That's all right, little girl, " he said kindly. "Pain pretty bad, eh?"

"Yes, " murmured Jeanie. 

"Ah, well, don't move!" he said. "We'll get your boot off and then you'llfeel better. "

"Oh, don't trouble, please!" said Jeanie politely. 

She held his hand very tightly, and he divined that the prospect of theboot's removal caused her considerable apprehension. 

He looked round to consult Avery on the subject, but found that she hadslipped out of the room. He heard her in the porch speaking to thechildren, and in a few seconds she was back again. 

"Don't let us keep you!" she said to Piers. "I can stay with Jeanie now. I have sent the children home, all but Ronald and Julian who have gone tofetch Dr. Tudor. "

Piers looked at Jeanie, and Jeanie looked at Piers. Her hand was stillfast locked in his. 

"Shall I go?" said Piers. 

Jeanie's blue eyes were very wistful. "I would like you to stay, " shesaid shyly, "if you don't mind. "

"If Mrs. Denys doesn't mind?" suggested Piers. 

To which Avery responded. "Thank you. Please stay!"

She said it for Jeanie's sake, since it was evident that the child wassustaining herself on the man's strength, but the look Piers flashed hermade her a little doubtful as to the wisdom of her action. She realizedthat it might not be easy to keep him at arm's length after this. 

Piers turned back to Jeanie. "Very well, I'll stay, " he said, "anyhowtill Tudor comes along. Let's see! You're the eldest girl, aren't you? Iought to know you by name, but somehow my memory won't run to it. "

He could not as a matter of fact remember that he had ever spoken to anyof the young Lorimers before, though by sight he was well acquaintedwith them. 

Jeanie, in whose eyes he had ever shone as a knight of romance, murmuredcourteously that no one ever remembered them all by name. 

"Well, I shall remember you anyhow, " said Piers. "Queenie is it?"

"No, --Jeanie. "

"I shall call you Queenie, " he said. "It sounds more imposing. Now won'tyou let me just slit off that boot? I can do it without hurting you. "

"Slit it!" said Jeanie, shocked. 

"We shan't get it off without, " said Piers. "What do you think about it, Mrs. Denys?"

"I will unfasten the lace first, " Avery said. 

This she proceeded to do while Piers occupied Jeanie's attention with asuccess which a less dominant personality could scarcely have achieved. 

But when it came to removing the boot he went to Avery's assistance. Itwas no easy matter but they accomplished it between them, Piersruthlessly cutting the leather away from the injured ankle which by thattime was badly swollen. They propped it on a cushion, and made her ascomfortable as circumstances would allow. 

"Can't that old woman make you some tea?" Piers said then, beginning tochafe at the prospect of an indefinite period of inaction. 

"I think she is boiling her kettle now, " Avery answered. 

Piers grunted. He fidgeted to the window and back, and then, findingJeanie's eyes still mutely watching him, he pulled up a chair to her sideand took the slender hand again into his own. 

Avery turned her attention to coaxing the fire to burn, and presentlywent out to Mrs. Marshall in her kitchen to offer her services there. Shewas graciously permitted to cut some bread and butter while the old womanprepared a tray. 

"I suppose it was Master Piers' fault, " the latter remarked withseverity. "He's always up to some mischief or other. "

Avery hastened to assure her that upon this occasion Piers was absolutelyblameless and had been of the utmost assistance to them. 

"I'm very glad to hear it, " said Mrs. Marshall. "He's a feckless younggentleman, and I often think as he's like to bring the old master's hairswith sorrow to the grave. Sir Beverley do set such store by him, alwaysdid from the day he brought him back from his dead mother in Paris, alongwith that French valet who carried him like as if he'd been a parcel ofgoods. He's been brought up by men from his cradle, miss, and it hasn'tdone him any good. But there! Sir Beverley is that set against allwomenkind there's no moving him. "

Mrs. Marshall was beginning to expand--a mark of high favour which shebestowed only upon the few. 

Avery listened with respect, comfortably aware that by this simple meansshe was creating a good impression. She was anxious to win the old dameto a benevolent frame of mind if possible, since to be thrown uponunwilling hospitality was the last thing she desired. 

It was characteristic of her that she achieved her purpose. When shereturned to the parlour in Mrs. Marshall's wake, she had completely wonher hostess's heart, a fact which Piers remarked on the instant. 

"There's magic in you, " he said to Avery, as she gave him his cup oftea. 

"I prefer to call it common sense, " she answered. 

She turned her attention at once to Jeanie, coaxing her to drink the teathough her utmost persuasion could not induce her to eat anything. Shewas evidently suffering a good deal of pain, but she begged them not totrouble about her. "Please have your tea, Aunt Avery! I shall be quiteall right. "

"Yes, Aunt Avery must certainly have some tea, " said Piers withdetermination, and he refused to touch his own until she had done so. 

It was a relief to all three of them when the doctor's dogcart was heardon the drive. Avery rose at once and went to receive him. 

Piers stretched a kindly arm behind the cushion that supported Jeanie'shead. "Do you really want me to stay with you, little girl?" he asked. 

Jeanie was very white, but she looked at him bravely. "Do youmind?" she said. 

His dark eyes smiled encouragement. "No, of course I don't mind if I canbe of any use to you. Tudor will probably want to kick me out, but if youhave the smallest desire to keep me, I'll stay. "

"You are kind, " said Jeanie very earnestly. "I think it will help me tobe brave if I may hold your hand. You have such a strong hand. "

"It is entirely at your service, " said Piers. 

He turned in his chair at the doctor's entrance, without rising. Hisattitude was decidedly dogged. He looked as if he anticipated a struggle. 

Dr. Tudor came in behind Avery. He was a man of forty, curt of speech andshort of temper, with eyes that gleamed shrewdly behind gold pince-nez. He gave Piers a look that was conspicuously lacking in cordiality. 

"Hullo!" he said. "You here!"

"Yes, I'm here, " said Piers. 

The doctor's eyes passed him and went straight to the white face of thechild on the sofa. He advanced and bent over her. 

"So you've had an accident, eh?" he said. 

"Yes, " whispered Jeanie, pressing a little closer to Piers. 

"What happened?"

"I think it was a rabbit-hole, " said Jeanie not very lucidly. 

"Caught your foot and fell, I suppose?" said the doctor. "Was that all?Did you do any walking after it?"

"Oh no!" said Jeanie, with a shudder. "Mr. Evesham carried me. "

"I see. " He was holding her wrist between his fingers. Very suddenly helooked at Piers again. "I can't have you here, " he said. 

"Can't you?" said Piers. He threw back his head with an aggressivemovement, but said no more. 

"Please let him stay!" said Jeanie beseechingly. 

The doctor frowned. 

In a low voice Avery intervened. "I told him he might--for thechild's sake. "

Dr. Tudor turned his hawk eyes upon her. "Who are you, may I ask?"

Piers' free hand clenched, and a sudden hot flush rose to his forehead. But Avery made answer before he could speak. 

"I am the mother's help at the Vicarage. My name is Denys--Mrs. Denys. And Jeanie is in my care. Now, will you look at the injury?"

She smiled a little as she said it, but the decision of her speech waspast disputing. Dr. Tudor regarded her piercingly for a moment or two, then without a word turned aside. 

The tension went out of Piers' attitude; he held Jeanie comfortinglyclose. 

At the end of a brief examination the doctor spoke. "Yes. A simplefracture. I can soon put that to rights. You can help me, Mrs. Denys. "

He went to work at once, giving occasional curt directions to Avery, while Jeanie clung convulsively to Piers, her face buried in his coat, and fought for self-control. 

It was a very plucky fight, for the ordeal was a severe one; and when itwas over the poor child broke down completely in spite of all her effortsand wept upon Piers' shoulder. He soothed and consoled her with theutmost kindness. It had been something of an ordeal for him also, andwith relief he turned his attention to comforting her. 

She soon grew calmer and apologized humbly for her weakness. "I don'tthink I could have borne it without you, " she told him, withtremulous sincerity. "But I'm so dreadfully sorry to have given youall this trouble. "

"That's all right, " Piers assured her. "I'm glad you found me of use. "

He dried her tears for the second time that afternoon, and then, with asomewhat obvious effort at civility, addressed the doctor. 

"I suppose it will be all right to move her now? Can we take her home inthe landaulette?"

Curtly the doctor made answer. "Very well indeed, I should say, if welift her carefully and keep the foot straight. I'll drive you to theAbbey if you like. I'm going up to see your grandfather. "

"I don't know why you should, " said Piers quickly. "There's nothing thematter with him. "

Dr. Tudor made no reply. "Are you coming?" he asked. 

"No, thanks. " There was latent triumph in Piers' response. "If you aregoing up, you can give the order for the landaulette, and tell mygrandfather I am staying to see Miss Lorimer safely home. "

Dr. Tudor grunted and turned away, frowning. 

"Well, so long!" he said to Jeanie. "I'll look in on my way back, andlend a hand with moving you. But you will be all right now if you do asyou're told. "

"Thank you, " said Jeanie meekly. 

He went out with Avery, and the door closed behind them. 

Jeanie stole a glance at Piers who was looking decidedly grim. 

"Yes, " he said in answer. "I detest him, and he knows it. "

Jeanie looked a little startled. "Oh, do you?" she said. 

"Don't you?" said Piers. 

"I--I really don't know. Isn't it--isn't it wrong to detest anyone!"faltered Jeanie. 

"Wrong!" said Piers. He frowned momentarily, then as suddenly he smiled. He bent very abruptly and kissed her on the forehead. "Yes, of courseit's wrong, " he said, "for the people who keep consciences. "

"Oh, but--" Jeanie remonstrated, and then something in his face stoppedher. She flushed and murmured in confusion, "Thank you for!--forkissing me!"

"Don't mention it!" said Piers, with a laugh. 

"I should like to kiss you if I may, " said Jeanie. "You have been sovery kind. "

He bent his face to hers and received the kiss. "You're a nice littlegirl, " he said, and there was an odd note of feeling in the words for alltheir lightness that made Jeanie aware that in some fashion he was moved. 

"I don't think he is quite--quite happy, do you?" she said to Avery thatnight when the worst of her troubles were over, and she was safely backat the Vicarage. 

And Avery answered thoughtfully, "Perhaps--not quite. "

CHAPTER VIII

A TALK BY THE FIRE

The Reverend Stephen Lorimer was writing his sermon for the last Sundayin Advent. His theme was eternal punishment and one which he consideredworthy of his utmost eloquence. There was nothing mythical or allegoricalin that subject in the opinion of the Reverend Stephen. He believed in itmost firmly, and the belief afforded him the keenest satisfaction. It wasa nerve-shaking sermon. Had it been of a secular nature, it might almosthave been described as inhuman, so obviously was it designed to renderhis hearers afraid to go home in the dark. But since it was not secular, it took the form of a fine piece of inspiration which, from Mr. Lorimer'spoint of view at least, could scarcely fail to make the most stubbornheart in his congregation tremble. He pictured himself delivering hissplendid rhetoric with a grand and noble severity as impressive as thewords he had to utter, reading appreciation--possibly unwillingappreciation--and dawning uneasiness on the upturned faces of hislisteners. 

Mr. Lorimer did not love his flock; his religion did not take thatform. And the flock very naturally as a whole had scant affection forMr. Lorimer. The flock knew, or shrewdly suspected, that his eloquencewas mere sound--not always even musical--and as a consequence itspower was somewhat thrown away. His command of words was practicallylimitless, but words could not carry him to the hearts of hiscongregation, and he had no other means at his disposal. For this ofcourse he blamed the congregation, which certainly had no right to winkand snigger when he passed. 

This Advent sermon however was a masterpiece, and as Mr. Lorimer lovinglyfingered the pages of his manuscript he told himself that it could notfail to make an impression upon the most hardened sinner. 

A low knock at the door disturbed these pleasant thoughts and he frowned. There was an unwritten law at the Vicarage that save for the most urgentof reasons he should never be interrupted at this hour. 

Softly the door opened. Humbly his wife peeped in. 

"Are you very busy, Stephen?"

His frown melted away. Here at least was one whose appreciation was neverlacking. "Well, my dear Adelaide, I think I may truthfully say that thestress of my business is fairly over. You may come in. "

She crept in, mouse-like, and a distant burst of music wafted in withher, causing her to turn and quickly close the door. 

"Have you finished your sermon, dear? Can we have a little talk?" sheasked him nervously. 

He stretched out a large white hand to her without rising. "Yes. I do notthink much remains to be said. We have as it were regarded the matterfrom every point of view. I do not think there will be many consciencesunaroused when I have enunciated my final warning. "

"You have such a striking delivery, " murmured Mrs. Lorimer, clasping thefirm white hand between both her own. 

Mr. Lorimer's eyes vanished in an unctuous smile. "Thou idleflatterer!" he said. 

"No, indeed, dear, " his wife protested. "I think you are alwaysimpressive, especially at the end of your sermons. That pause you makebefore you turn your face to the altar--it seems to me so effective--so, if one may say it, dramatic. "

"To what request is this the prelude?" enquired Mr. Lorimer, emergingfrom his smile. 

She laughed a little nervous laugh. Her thin face was flushed. "Shall wesit by the fire, Stephen, as we used to that first happy winter--do youremember?--after we were married?"

"Dear me!" said Mr. Lorimer. "This sounds like a plunge into sentiment. "

Nevertheless he rose with a tolerant twinkle and seated himself in thelarge easy-chair before the fire. It was the only really comfortablechair in the room. He kept it for his moments of reflection. 

Mrs. Lorimer sat down at his feet on the fender-curb, her tiny hand stillclinging to his. "This is a real treat, " she said, laying her headagainst his knee with a gesture oddly girlish. "It isn't often, is it, that we have it all to ourselves?"

"What is it you have to say to me?" he enquired. 

She drew his hand down gently over her shoulder, and held it against hercheek. There fell a brief silence, then she said with a slight effort:"Your idea of a mother's help has worked wonderfully, Stephen. As youknow, I was averse to it at first but I am so glad you insisted. DearAvery is a greater comfort to me than I can possibly tell you. "

"Avery!" repeated the Reverend Stephen, with brows elevated. "I presumeyou are talking of Mrs. Denys?"

"Yes, dear. I call her Avery. I feel her to be almost one of ourselves. "There was just a hint of apology in Mrs. Lorimer's voice. "She hasbeen--and is--so very kind to me, " she said. "I really don't know whatthe children and I would do without her. "

"I am glad to hear she is kind, " said Mr. Lorimer, with a touchof acidity. 

"My dearest, she is quite our equal in position, " murmured Mrs. Lorimer. 

"That may be, my dear Adelaide. " The acidity developed into a note ofdispleasure. "In a sense doubtless we are all equal. But in spite ofthat, extremes of intimacy are often inadvisable. I do not think you arealtogether discreet in making a bosom friend of a woman in Mrs. Denys'sposition. A very good woman, I grant you. But familiarity with her isaltogether unsuitable. From my own experience of her I am convinced thatshe would very soon presume upon it. "

He paused. Mrs. Lorimer said nothing. She was sitting motionless with hersoft eyes on the fire. 

Mr. Lorimer looked down at the brown head at his knee with growingseverity. "You will, therefore, Adelaide, in deference to my wish--if forno other reason--discontinue this use of Mrs. Denys's Christian name. "

Mrs. Lorimer's lips moved, but they said nothing. 

"Adelaide!" He spoke with cold surprise. 

Instantly her fingers tightened upon his with a grip that was almostpassionate. She raised her head, and looked up at him with earnest, pleading eyes. "I am sorry, Stephen--dear Stephen--but I have alreadygiven my friendship to--to Mrs. Denys. She has been--she is--like asister to me. So you see, I can't possibly take it away again. You wouldnot wish it if you knew. "

"If I knew!" repeated Mr. Lorimer, in a peculiar tone. 

She turned her face from him again, but he leaned slowly forward in hischair and taking her chin between his finger and thumb turned itdeliberately back again. 

She shrank a little, but she did not resist him. He looked searchinglyinto her eyes. The lids flickered nervously under his gaze, but he didnot relax his scrutiny. 

"Well?" he said. 

Her lips quivered. She said nothing. 

But her silence was enough. He released her abruptly and dropped back inhis chair without another word. 

She sank down trembling against his knee, and there followed a mostpainful pause. Through the stillness there crept again the faintstrains of distant music. Someone was playing the Soldiers' March outof _Faust_ on the old cracked schoolroom piano, which was rising noblyto the occasion. 

Mr. Lorimer moved at length and turned his head. "Who is that playing?"

"Piers Evesham, " whispered Mrs. Lorimer. She was weeping softly and darednot stir lest he should discover the fact. 

There was a deep, vertical line between Mr. Lorimer's brows. "And whatmay Piers Evesham be doing here?" he enquired. 

"He comes often--to see Jeanie, " murmured his wife deprecatingly. 

He laughed unpleasantly. "A vast honour for Jeanie!"

Two tears fell from Mrs. Lorimer's eyes. She began to feel furtively forher handkerchief. 

"And Dr. Lennox Tudor, "--he pronounced the name with elaborate care, --"hecomes--often--for the same reason, I presume?"

"He--he came to see me yesterday, " faltered Mrs. Lorimer. 

"Indeed!" The word was as water dropped from an icicle. 

She dabbed her eyes and bravely turned and faced him. "Stephen dear, I amvery sorry. I didn't want to vex you unnecessarily. I hoped againsthope--" She broke off, and knelt up before him, clasping his hand tightlyagainst her breast. "Stephen--dearest, you said--when our firstborncame--that he was--God's gift. "

"Well?" Again that one, uncompromising word. The vertical line deepenedbetween her husband's brows. His eyes looked coldly back at her. 

Mrs. Lorimer caught her breath on a little sob. "Will not this littleone--be just as much so?" she whispered. 

He began to draw his hand away from her. "My dear Adelaide, we will notbe foolishly sentimental. What must be, must. I am afraid I must ask youto run away now as I have yet to put the finishing touches to my sermon. Perhaps you will kindly request young Evesham on my behalf to make alittle less noise. "

He deliberately put her from him, and prepared to rise. But Mrs. Lorimersuddenly and very unexpectedly rose first. She stood before him, slightlybending, her hands on his broad shoulders. 

"Will you kiss me, Stephen?" she said. 

He lifted a grim, reluctant face. She stooped, slipping her arms abouthis neck. "My own dear husband!" she whispered. 

He endured her embrace for a couple of seconds; then, "That will do, Adelaide, " he said with decision. "You must not let yourself getemotional. Dear me! It is getting late. I am afraid I really must ask youto leave me. "

Her arms fell. She drew back, dispirited. "Forgive me, --oh, forgive me!"she murmured miserably. 

He turned back to his writing-table, still frowning. "I was not awarethat I had anything to forgive, " he said. "But if you think so, --" heshrugged his shoulders, beginning already to turn the pages of hismasterpiece--"my forgiveness is yours. I wonder if you would care todivert your thoughts from what I am sure you will admit to be a purelyselfish channel by listening to a portion of this Advent sermon. "

"What is it about?" asked Mrs. Lorimer, hesitating. 

"My theme, " said the Reverend Stephen, "is the awful doom that awaitsthe unrepentant sinner. "

There was a moment's silence, and then Mrs. Lorimer did an extraordinarything. She turned from him and walked to the door. 

"Thank you very much, Stephen, " she said, and she spoke with decisionalbeit her voice was not wholly steady. "But I don't feel that that kindof diversion would do me much good. I think I shall run up to the nurseryand see Baby Phil have his bath. "

She was gone; but so noiselessly that Mr. Lorimer, turning in his chairto rebuke her frivolity, found himself addressing the closed door. 

He turned back again with a heavy sigh. There seemed to be somedisturbing element at work. Time had been when she had deemed it herdearest privilege to sit and listen to his sermons. He could notunderstand her refusal of an offer that ought to have delighted her. Hehoped that her heart was not becoming hardened. 

Could he have seen her ascending the stairs at that moment with the tearsrunning down her face, he might have realized that that fear at least wasgroundless. 

CHAPTER IX

THE TICKET OF LEAVE

Seated at the schoolroom piano, Piers was thoroughly in his element. Hehad a marvellous gift for making music, and his audience listenedspell-bound. His own love for it amounted to a passion, inherited, so itwas said, from his Italian grandmother. He threw his whole soul into theinstrument under his hands, and played as one inspired. 

Jeanie, from her sofa, drank in the music with shining eyes. She hadnever heard anything to compare with it before, and it stirred her tothe depths. 

It stirred Avery also, but in a different way. The personality of theplayer forced itself upon her with a curious insistence, and she had anodd feeling that he did it by deliberate intention. Every chord he struckseemed to speak to her directly, compelling her attention, dominating herwill. He was playing to her alone, and, though she chose to ignore thefact, she was none the less aware of it. By his music he enthralled her, making her see the things he saw, making her feel the fiery unrest thatthrobbed in every beat of his heart. 

Gracie, standing beside him, watching with fascinated eyes the stronghands that charmed from the old piano such music as probably it had neverbefore uttered, was enthralled also, but only in a superficial sense. Shewas keenly interested in the play of his fingers, which seemed to herquite wonderful, as indeed it was. 

He took no more notice of her admiring gaze than if she had been a fly, pouring out his magic flood of music with eyes fixed straight before himand lips that were sometimes hard and sometimes tender. He might havebeen a man in a trance. 

And then very suddenly the spell was broken. For no apparent reason, hefell headlong from his heights and burst into a merry little jig that setGracie dancing like an elf. 

He became aware of her then, threw her a laugh, quickened to a madtarantella that nearly whirled her off her feet, finally ended with acrashing chord, and whizzed round on the music-stool in time to catch heras she fell gasping against him. 

"What a featherweight you are!" he laughed. "You'll dance the Thames onfire some day. Giddy, what?"

Gracie lay in his arms in a collapsed condition. "You--you made me doit!" she panted. 

"To be sure!" said Piers. "I'm a wizard. Didn't you know? I can makeanybody do anything. " There was a ring of triumph in his voice. 

Jeanie drew a deep breath and nodded from her sofa. "It's calledhyp--hyp--Aunt Avery, what is the word?"

"Aunt Avery doesn't know, " said Piers. "And why Aunt Avery, I wonder?You'll be calling me Uncle Piers next. "

Both children laughed. "I have a special name for you, " Jeanie said. 

But Piers was not attending. He cast a daring glance across the room atAvery who was darning stockings under the lamp. 

"Do they call you Aunt Avery because you are so old?" he enquired, asAvery did not respond to it. 

She smiled a little. "I expect so, " she said. 

"Oh no!" said Jeanie politely. "Only because we are children and she isgrown up. "

Piers, with Gracie still lounging comfortably on his knee, bowed to her. "I thank your majesty. I appeal to you as queen of this establishment; amI--as a grown-up--entitled to drop the title of Aunt when addressing thegracious lady in question?"

Again he glanced towards Avery, but she did not raise her eyes. Sheworked on, still with that faint, enigmatical smile about her lips. 

Jeanie looked slightly dubious. "I don't think you could ever call herAunt, could you?" she said. 

Piers turned upon the music-stool, and with one of Gracie's fingers beganto pick out an impromptu tune that somehow had a saucy ring. 

"I like that, " said Gracie, enchanted. 

He laughed. "Yes, it's pretty, isn't it? It's--Avery without the Aunt. "

He began to elaborate the tune, accompanying it with his left hand, toGracie's huge delight, "Here we come into a minor key, " he said, speakingobviously and exclusively to Gracie; "this is Avery when she is cross andinclined to be down on a fellow. And here we begin to get a littleexcited and breathless; this is Avery in a tantrum, getting angrier andangrier every moment. " He hammered out his impertinent little melody withfevered energy, protest from Gracie notwithstanding. "No, you've neverseen her in a tantrum of course. Thank your lucky stars you haven't! It'san awful sight, take my word for it! She calls you a brute and nearlyknocks you down with a horsewhip. " The music became very descriptive atthis point; then gradually returned to the original refrain, somewhatamplified and embellished. "This is Avery in her everyday mood--sweet andkind and reasonable, --the Avery we all know and love--with just a hintof what the French call _'diablerie'_ to make her--_tout-à-faitadorable_. "

He cast his eyes up at the ceiling, and then, releasing Gracie's hand, brought his impromptu to a close with a few soft chords. 

"Here endeth the Avery Symphony!" he declared, swinging round again onthe music-stool. "I could show you another Avery, but she is not on viewto everybody. It's quite possible that she has never seen herself yet. "

He got up with the words, tweaked Gracie's hair, caressed Jeanie's, andstrolled across to the fire beside which Avery sat with her work. 

"It's awfully kind of you to tolerate me like this, " he said. 

"Isn't it?" said Avery, without raising her eyes. 

He looked down at her, an odd gleam in his own that came and went like aleaping flame. 

"You suffer fools gladly, don't you?" he said, a queer inflection thatwas half a challenge in his voice. 

She frowned very slightly above her stocking. "Not particularly, " shesaid. 

"You bear with them then?" Piers tone was insistent. 

She paused as though considering her reply. "I generally try to avoidthem, " she said finally. 

"You keep aloof--and darn stockings, " suggested Piers. 

"And listen to your music, " said Avery. 

"Do you like my music?" He shot the question at her imperiously. 

Avery nodded. 

"Really? You do really?" There was boyish eagerness about him now. Heleaned towards her, his brown face aglow. 

She nodded again. "Do you ever--write music?"

"No, " said Piers. 

"Why not?"

He answered with a curious touch of bitterness. "No one would understandit if I did. "

"But what a mistake!" she said. 

"Is it? Why?" His voice sounded stubborn. 

She looked suddenly straight up at him and spoke with impulsive warmth. "Because it is quite beside the point. It wouldn't matter to anyone butyourself whether people understood it or not. Of course popularity ispleasant. Everyone likes it. But do you suppose the really big peoplethink at all about the world's opinion when they are at work? They justgive of their best because nothing less would satisfy them, but theydon't do it because they want to be appreciated by the crowd. Geniusalways gets above the crowd. It's only those who can't rise above theircritics who really care what the critics say. "

She stopped. Her face was flushed, her eyes kindling; but she loweredthem very suddenly and returned to her work. For the fitful gleam inPiers' eyes had leaped in response to a blaze so hot, so ardent, that shecould not meet it unflinching. 

She was oddly grateful to him when he passed her brief confusion by asthough he had not seen it. "So I'm a genius, am I?" he said, and laugheda careless laugh. "Are you listening, Queen of my heart? Aunt Avery saysI'm a genius. "

He moved to Jeanie's sofa, and sat down on the edge of it. Her hand stoleinstantly into his. 

"Yes, of course, " she said, in her soft, tired voice. "That's what Imeant when I was trying to remember that other word--the word thatbegins 'hyp. '"

"Hypnotism, " said Avery very quietly. 

Piers laughed again. "It's a word you don't understand, my Queen of allgood fairies. It's only the naughty fairies--the will-o'-the-wisps andthe hobgoblins--that know anything about it. It's a wicked spellconcocted by the King of Evil himself, and it's only under that spellthat his prisoners ever see the light. It's the one ticket of leave fromthe dungeons, and they must either use it or die in the dark. "

Jeanie was listening with a puzzled frown, but Gracie's imagination wasinstantly fired. 

"Do go on!" she said eagerly. "I know what a ticket of leave is. Nurse'suncle had one. It means you have to go back after a certain time, doesn't it?"

"Exactly, " said Piers grimly. "When the ticket expires. "

"But I don't see, " began Jeanie. Her face was flushed and a littledistressed. "How can hypnotism be like--like a ticket of leave?"

"I told you you wouldn't understand, " said Piers. "You see you've got torealize what hypnotism is before you can know what it's like. It's reallythe art of imposing one's will upon someone else's, of making that otherperson see things as you want them to see them--not as they really are. It's the power of deception carried to a superlative degree. And whenthat power is exhausted, the ticket may be said to have expired--and theprisoner returns to the dungeon. Sometimes he takes the other person withhim. Sometimes he goes alone. "

He stopped abruptly as a hand rapped smartly on the door. 

Avery looked up again from her work. "Come in!" she said. 

"It's the doctor!" whispered Gracie to Piers. "Bother him!"

Piers laughed with his lower lip between his teeth, and Lennox Tudoropened the door and paused upon the threshold. 

Avery rose to receive him, but his look passed her almost instantly andrested frowningly upon Piers. 

"Enter the Lord High Executioner!" said Piers flippantly. "Well? Who isthe latest victim? And what have you come here for?"

The doctor came in. He shook hands with Avery, and turned at once toPiers. 

"I have come to see my patient, " he said aggressively. 

"Have you?" said Piers. "So have I. " He stood up, squaring his broadshoulders. "And I'm coming again--by special invitation. " His dark eyesflung a gibe with the words. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Evesham!" said Avery somewhat pointedly. 

He turned sharply, and took her extended hand with elaborate courtesy. 

"Good-bye, --Mrs. Denys!" he said. 

"I'll come down and see you off, " cried Gracie, attaching herself tohis free arm. 

"Ah! Wait a bit!" said Piers. "I haven't said good-bye to the Queen ofthe fairies yet. "

He dropped upon one knee by Jeanie's sofa. Her arm slid round his neck. 

"When will you come again?" she whispered. 

"When do you hold your next court?" he whispered back. 

She smiled, her pale face close to his. "I love to see you--always, " shesaid. "Come just any time!"

"Shall I?" said Piers. 

He was looking straight into the tired, blue eyes, and his own were softwith a tenderness that must have charmed any child to utter confidence. She lifted her lips to his. "As often as ever you can, " she murmured. 

He kissed her. "I will. Good-night, my Queen!"

"Good-night, " she answered softly, "dear Sir Galahad!"

Avery had a glimpse of Piers' face as he went away, and she wonderedmomentarily at the look it wore. 

CHAPTER X

SPORT

It was the day before Christmas Eve, and Avery had been shopping. 

She and Mrs. Lorimer were preparing a Christmas Tree for the children, asecret to which only Jeanie had been admitted. The tree itself wasalready procured and hidden away in a corner of the fruit cupboard--towhich special sanctum Mrs. Lorimer and Avery alone had access. But thenumerous gifts and ornaments which they had been manufacturing for weekswere safely stored in a corner of Avery's own room. It was to completethis store that Avery had been down into Rodding that afternoon, and shewas returning laden and somewhat wearied. 

The red light of a cloudy winter sunset lay behind her. Ahead of her, nowveiled, now splendidly revealed, there hung a marvellous, glimmeringstar. A little weight of sadness was dragging at her heart, but she wouldnot give it place or so much as acknowledge its presence. She hummed acarol as she went, stepping lightly through the muddy fields. 

The frost had given place to an unseasonable warmth, and there had beensome heavy rain earlier in the day. It was threatening to rain again. Infact, as she mounted her second stile, the first drops of what promisedto be a sharp shower began to fall. She cast a hasty glance around forshelter, and spied some twenty yards away against the hedge a hut whichhad probably been erected for the use of some shepherd. Swiftly she madefor it, reaching it just as the shower became a downpour. 

There was neither door nor window to the place, but an ancient shutterwhich had evidently done duty for the former was lodged against the wallimmediately inside. 

She had to stoop to enter, and but for the pelting rain she might havehesitated to do so; for the darkness within was complete. But once in, she turned her face back to the dying light of the sunset and saw thatthe rain would not last. 

At the same moment she heard a curious sound behind her, a panting, coughing sound as of some creature in distress, and something stirred inthe furthest corner. Sharply she turned, and out of the darkness two wildgreen eyes glared up at her. 

Avery's heart gave a great jerk. Instinctively she drew back. Her firstimpulse was to turn and flee, but something--something which at themoment she could not define--prompted her to remain. The frantic terrorof those eyes appealed to that in her which was greater than her ownpersonal fear. 

She paused therefore, and in the pause there came to her ears a swellingtumult that arose from the ridge of an eminence a couple of fields away. Right well Avery knew that sound. In the far-off days of her earlygirlhood it had quickened her pulses many a time. It was enough even nowto set every nerve throbbing with a tense excitement. 

She turned her face once more to the open, and as she did so she heardagain in the hut behind her that agonized sound, half-cough, half-whine, of an animal exhausted and in the extremity of mortal fear. 

It was enough for Avery. She grasped the situation on the instant, andon the instant she acted. She felt as if a helpless and tortured beinghad cried to her for deliverance, and all that was great in herresponded to the cry. 

She seized the crazy shutter that was propped against the wall, put forthher strength, and lifted it out into the open. It was no easy matter toset it securely against the low doorway. She wondered afterwards how shedid it; at the time she tore her gloves to ribbons with the exertion, butyet was scarcely aware of making any. 

When the pack swept across the grass in a single yelling, heaving mass, she was ready. She leaned against the improvised door with armsoutstretched and resolutely faced the swarming, piebald multitude. 

In a moment the hounds were upon her. She was waist-deep in them. Theyleapt almost to her shoulders in their madness, smothering her with mudand slobber. For a second or two the red eyes and gaping jaws made evenAvery's brave heart quail. But she stood her ground, ordering them backwith breathless insistence. They must have thought her a maniac, shereflected afterwards. At the time she fully expected to be torn inpieces, and was actually surprised when they suddenly parted and sweptround the hut, encircling it with deep-mouthed baying. 

The huntsman, arriving on the scene, found her white-faced but stilldetermined, still firmly propping the shutter in place with the weight ofher body. He called the hounds to order with hoarse oaths and furiouscrackings of the whip, and as he did so the rest of the field began toarrive, a laughing, trampling crowd of sportsmen who dropped intostaring, astounded silence as they reached the scene. 

And then the huntsman addressed Avery with sardonic affability. 

"P'r'aps now, miss, you'd be good enough to step aside and let the 'oundsattend to business. "

But Avery, with eyes that blazed in her pale face, made scathing answer. 

"You shan't kill the poor brute like a rat in a trap. He deserves betterthan that. You had your chance of killing in the open, and you failed. Itisn't sport to kill in the dark. "

"We'll soon have 'im out, " said the huntsman grimly. 

She shook her head. Her hands, in the ripped gloves, were clenched andquivering. 

The huntsman slashed and swore at one of the hounds to relieve hisfeelings, and looked for inspiration to the growing crowd of riders. 

One of them, the M. F. H. , Colonel Rose of Wardenhurst, pushed his horseforward. He raised his hat with extreme courtliness. 

"Madam, " he said, "while appreciating your courage, allow me to point outthat that fox is now the legal property of the Hunt, and you have noright whatever to deprive us of it. "

His daughter Ina, a slim girl of twenty, was at his elbow. She jogged itimpatiently. "He'll remain our property whether we kill or not, Dad. Lethim live to run again!"

"What?" cried a voice in the rear. "Let a woman interfere? Great Heavensabove, Barchard! Have you gone mad?"

Barchard the huntsman glanced round uneasily as an old man on a powerfulwhite horse forced his way to the front. His grey eyes glowered down atAvery as though he would slay her. The trampling hoofs came within a yardof her. But if he thought to make her desert her post by that means, hewas mistaken. She stood there, actually waiting to be hustled by thefretting animal, and yielding not an inch. 

"Stand aside!" thundered Sir Beverley. "Confound you! Stand aside!"

But Avery never stirred. She faced him panting but unflinching. The foamof his hunter splashed her, the mud from the stamping hoofs struckupwards on her face; but still she stood to defend the defenceless thingbehind her. 

She often wondered afterwards what Sir Beverley would have done had hebeen left to settle the matter in his own way. She was horribly afraid, but she certainly would never have yielded to aught but brute force. 

But at this juncture there came a sudden diversion. Another voice madeitself heard in furious protest. Another horse was spurred forward; andPiers, white to the lips, with eyes of awful flame, leaned from hissaddle and with his left hand caught Sir Beverley's bridle, dragging hisanimal back. 

What he said Avery did not hear; it was spoken under his breath. But shesaw a terrible look flash like an evil spirit into Sir Beverley's face. She saw his right arm go up, and heard his riding-crop descend with asound like a pistol-shot upon Piers' shoulders. 

It was a horrible sight and one which she was never to forget. Bothhorses began to leap madly, the one Sir Beverley rode finally rearing andbeing pulled down again by Piers who hung on to the bridle like grimdeath, his head bent, his shoulders wholly exposed to those crashingmerciless blows. 

They reeled away at length through the crowd, which scattered in dismayto let them pass, but for many seconds it seemed to Avery that theawful struggle went on in the dusk as Piers dragged his grandfatherfrom the spot. 

A great weakness had begun to assail her. Her knees were quivering underher. She wondered what the next move would be, and felt utterly powerlessto put forth any further effort. And then she heard Ina Rose's clearyoung voice. 

"Barchard, take the hounds back to kennels! I'm sure we've all had enoughfor one day. "

"Hear, hear!" said a man in the crowd. 

And Ina laughed. "Thank you, Dick! Come along, Dad! Leave the horrid oldfox alone! Don't you think we ought to go and separate Sir Beverley andPiers? What an old pepper-pot he is!"

"Piers isn't much better, " remarked the man she had called Dick. Hisproper appellation was Richard Guyes, but his friends never stood onceremony with him. 

The girl laughed again inconsequently. She was spoken of by some as thespoilt beauty of the county. "Oh, Piers is stuffed tight with gunpowderas everybody knows. He explodes at a touch. Get along, Barchard! What areyou waiting for? I told you to take the hounds home. "

Barchard looked at the Colonel. 

"I suppose you'd better, " the latter said. He threw a glance ofdispleasure at Avery. "It's a most unheard of affair altogether, but Iadmit there's not much to be said for a kill in cold blood. Yes, take'em home!"

Barchard made a savage cut at two of the hounds who were scratching andwhimpering at a tiny chink in the boarding, and with surly threatscollected the pack and moved off. 

The rest of the field melted away into the deepening dusk. Ina and DickGuyes were among the last to go. They moved off side by side. 

"It'll be the laugh of the county, " the man said, "but, egad, I likeher pluck. "

And in answer the girl laughed again, a careless, merry laugh. "Yes, Iwonder who she is. A friend of Piers' apparently. Did you see what astiff fury he was in?"

"It was a fairly stiff flogging, " remarked Guyes. "Ye gods! I wonder howhe stood it. "

"Oh, Piers can stand anything, " said Ina unconcernedly. "He's as strongas an ox. "

The voices dwindled and died in the distance. The dusk deepened. A senseof utter forlornness, utter weariness, came upon Avery. The struggle wasover, and she had emerged triumphant; but it did not seem to matter. Shecould think only of those awful blows raining down upon the defencelessshoulders of the boy who had championed her. And, leaning there in thedrizzling wet, she covered her face with her hands and wept. 

CHAPTER XI

THE STAR OF HOPE

There came the swift drumming of galloping hoofs, the check and pause ofa leap, and then close at hand the thud of those same hoofs landing onthe near side of the hedge. The rider slithered to the ground, patted theanimal's neck, and turned forthwith towards the hut. Avery heard noughtof his coming. She was crying like a weak, unnerved woman, draggled andmud-spattered, unspeakably distressed. It was so seldom that she gave waythat perhaps the failure of her self-control was the more absolute whenit came. She had been tried beyond her strength. Body and mind were alikeexhausted. 

But when strong arms suddenly encircled her and she found herself drawnclose to a man's breast, quick and instinctive came the impulse toresist. She drew back from him with a sharp exclamation. 

"It's only me, " said Piers. "Surely you don't mind me!"

It was naively expressed, so naively that she assayed to laugh in themidst of her woe. "Oh, how you startled me!" was all she found to say. 

"But surely you knew I was coming back!" he said. 

The dogged note was in his voice. It embarrassed her subtly. Seeing hisface through the deepening gloom, it seemed to her to be set in stern, unyielding lines. 

She collected her scattered forces, and gently put his arms away fromher. "It was very kind of you, Mr. Evesham, " she said. "But pleaseremember that I'm not Jeanie!"

He made an impulsive movement of impatience. "I never pretended youwere, " he said gruffly. "But you were crying, weren't you? Why wereyou crying?"

His tone was almost aggressive. He seemed to be angry, but whether withher, himself, or a third person, Avery could not determine. 

She decided that the situation demanded firmness, and proceeded to treatit accordingly. 

"I was very foolish to cry, " she said. "I have quite recovered now, soplease forget it! It was very kind of you to take my part a little whileago--especially as you couldn't have been really in sympathy with me. Thank you very much!"

Again he made that gesture of imperious impatience. "Oh, don't be sobeastly formal! I can't stand it. If it had been any other manthreatening you, I believe I should have killed him!"

He spoke with concentrated passion, but Avery was resolved not to betragic. She was striving to get back to wholesome commonplace. 

"What a good thing it wasn't!" she said. "I shouldn't have cared to havebeen responsible for that. I had quite enough to answer for as it was. Ihope you will make peace with your grandfather as soon as possible. "

Piers laughed a savage laugh. "He broke his whip over me. Do you thinkI'm going to make peace with him for that?"

"Oh, Piers!" she exclaimed in distress. 

It was out before she could check it--that involuntary use of hisChristian name for which it seemed to her afterwards he had beendeliberately lying in wait. 

He did not take immediate advantage of her slip, but she knew that henoticed it, registered it as it were for future reference. 

"No, " he said moodily, after a pause. "I don't think the debt is on myside this time. He had the satisfaction of flogging me with the wholeHunt looking on. " There was sullen resentment in his tone, and then verysuddenly to Avery's amazement he began to laugh. "It was worth it anyway, so we won't cavil about the price. How much longer are you going tobottle up that unfortunate brute? Don't you think it's time he went hometo his wife?"

Avery moved away from the shutter against which she had stood so long. "Icouldn't let him be killed, " she said. "You won't understand, of course. But I simply couldn't. "

"Why shouldn't I understand?" said Piers. "You threw that in my teethbefore. I don't know why. "

His tone baffled her. She could not tell whether he spoke in jest orearnest. She refrained from answering him, and in the silence thatfollowed he lifted the shutter away from the hut entrance and lookedinside. Avery's basket of purchases lay at his feet. He picked it up. "Come along! He's crouched up in the corner, and his eyes look as if hethought all the devils in hell were after him. Odd as it may seem to you, I can understand his feelings--and yours. Let's go, and leave him toescape in peace!"

He took her arm as naturally as though he had a right, and led heraway. Her basket was in his other hand in which he carried hisriding-whip also. He whistled over his shoulder to his horse whofollowed him like a dog. 

The rain was gradually ceasing, but the clouds had wholly closed upon thesunset. Avery did not want to walk in silence, but somehow she could nothelp it. His hold upon her arm was as light as a feather, but she couldnot help that either for the moment. She walked as one beneath a spell. 

And before them the clouds slowly parted, and again there shone thatsingle, magic star, dazzingly pure against the darkness. 

"Do you see that?" said Piers suddenly. 

She assented almost under her breath. 

For a moment she was conscious of the tightening of his hand at herelbow. "It's the Star of Hope, Avery, " he whispered. "Yours--and mine. "He stopped with the words. "Don't say anything!" he said hurriedly. "Pretend you didn't hear, if--if you wish you hadn't. Goodbye!"

He thrust her basket into her hand, and turned from her. 

A moment he stood as if to give her the opportunity of detaining himif she so desired, and then as she made no sign he went to his horsewho waited a couple of yards away, mounted, and without word or saluterode away. 

Avery drew a deep, deep breath and walked on. There was a curioussensation at her heart--almost a trapped feeling--such as she had neverbefore experienced. Again deeply she drew her breath, as if to ridherself of some oppression. Life was difficult--life was difficult!

But presently, as she walked, the sense of oppression lessened. Sheeven faintly smiled to herself. What an odd, passionate youth he was!It was impossible to be angry with him; better far not to take himseriously at all. 

She recalled old Mrs. Marshall's dour remarks concerning him;--"broughtup by men from his cradle, " brought up, moreover, by that terrible oldSir Beverley on the one hand and an irresponsible French valet on theother. She caught herself wishing that she had had the upbringing of him, and smiled again. There was a great deal of sweetness in his nature; ofthat she was sure, and because of it she found she could forgive hiswaywardness, reflecting that he had probably been mismanaged from hisearliest infancy. 

At this point she reached the high-road, and heard the wheels of adog-cart behind her. She recognized the quick, hard trot of the doctor'scob, and paused at the side of the road to let him pass. But the doctor'seyes behind their glasses were keen as a hawk's. He recognized her, thedeepening dusk notwithstanding, while he was still some yards from her, and pulled in his horse to a walk. 

"Jump up!" he said. "I'm going your way. "

He reached down a hand to her, and Avery mounted beside him. "How luckyfor me!" she said. 

"Tired, eh?" he questioned. 

She laughed a little. "Oh no, not really. But it's nice to get a lift. Were you coming to see Jeanie?"

"Yes, " said Tudor briefly. 

She glanced at him, caught by something in his tone. "Dr. Tudor, " shesaid, after a moment's hesitation, "are you--altogether--satisfiedabout her?"

Tudor was looking at his horse's ears; for some reason he was holding theanimal in to a walk. "I am quite satisfied with regard to the fracture, "he said. "She will soon be on her legs again. "

His words were deliberately wary. Avery felt a little tremor ofapprehension go through her. 

"I'm afraid you don't consider her very strong, " she said uneasily. 

He did not at once reply. She had a feeling that he was debating withinhimself as to the advisability of replying at all. And then quitesuddenly he turned his head and spoke. "Mrs. Denys, you are accustomed tohearing other people's burdens, so I may as well tell you the truth. Ican't say--because I don't know--if there is anything radically wrongwith that little girl; but she has no stamina whatever. If she had tocontend with anything serious, things would go very badly with her. Inany case--" he paused. 

"Yes?" said Avery. 

Tudor had become wary again. "Perhaps I have said enough, " he said. 

"I don't know why you should hesitate to speak quite openly, " sherejoined steadily. "As you say, I am a bearer of burdens. And I don'tthink I am easily frightened. "

"I am sure you are not, " he said. "If I may be allowed to say so, I thinkyou are essentially a woman to be relied on. If I did not think so, Icertainly should not have spoken as I have done. "

"Then will you tell me what it is that you fear for her?" Avery said. 

He was looking straight at her through the gloom, but she could not seehis eyes behind their glasses. "Well, " he said somewhat brusquely atlength, "to be quite honest, I fear--mind you, I only fear--some trouble, possibly merely some delicacy, of the lungs. Without a carefulexamination I cannot speak definitely. But I think there is little roomfor doubt that the tendency is there. "

"I see, " Avery said. She was silent a moment; then, "You have notconsidered it advisable to say this to her father?" she said. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Would it make any difference?"

Avery was silent. 

He went on with gathering force. "I went to him once, Mrs. Denys, --onceonly--about his wife's health. I told him in plain language that sheneeded every care, every consideration, that without these she wouldprobably lose all her grip on life and become a confirmed invalid withshattered nerves. I was very explicit. I told him the straight, unvarnished truth. I didn't like my job, but I felt it must be done. Andhe--good man--laughed in my face, begged me to croak no more, and assuredme that he was fully capable of managing all his affairs, including hiswife and family, in his own way. He was touring in Switzerland when thelast child was born. "

"Hound!" said Avery, in a low voice. 

Tudor uttered a brief laugh, and abruptly quitted the subject. "Thatlittle girl needs very careful watching, Mrs. Denys. She should never beallowed to overtire herself, mentally or physically. And if she shoulddevelop any untoward symptom, for Heaven's sake don't hesitate to sendfor me! I shan't blame you for being too careful. "

"I understand, " Avery said. 

He flicked his horse's ears, and the animal broke into a trot. 

When Tudor spoke again, it was upon a totally different matter. His voicewas slightly aggressive as he said: "That Evesham boy seems to be forever turning up at the Vicarage now. He's an ill-mannered cub. I wonderyou encourage him. "

"Do I encourage him?" Avery asked. 

He made a movement of irritation. "He would scarcely be such a constantvisitor if you didn't. "

Avery smiled faintly and not very humorously in the darkness. "It isJeanie he comes to see, " she observed. 

"Oh, obviously. " Tudor's retort was so ironical as to be almost rude. 

She received it in silence, and after a moment he made a half-grudgingamendment. 

"He never showed any interest in Jeanie before, you know. I don't thinkshe is the sole attraction. "

"No?" said Avery. 

Her response was perfectly courteous, but so vague that it sounded toLennox Tudor as if she were thinking of something else. He clenched hishand hard upon the handle of his whip. 

"People tolerate him for the sake of his position, " he said bitterly. "But to my mind he is insufferable. His father was a scapegrace, aseveryone knows. His mother was a circus girl. And his grandmother--anItalian--was divorced by Sir Beverley before they had been marriedtwo years. "

"Oh!" Avery emerged from her vagueness and turned towards him. "LadyEvesham was Italian, was she? That accounts for his appearance, doesn'tit? That air of the old Roman patrician about him; you must havenoticed it?"

"He's handsome enough, " admitted Tudor. 

"Oh, very handsome, " said Avery. "I should say that for that type hisface was almost faultless. I wondered where he got it from. Sir Beverleyis patrician too, but in a different way. " She stopped to bow to a tall, gaunt lady at the side of the road. "That is Miss Whalley. Didn't you seeher? I expect she has just come from the Vicarage. She was going todiscuss the scheme for the Christmas decorations with the Vicar. "

"She's good at scheming, " growled Tudor. 

Avery became silent again. At the Vicarage gates however very suddenlyand sweetly she spoke. "Dr. Tudor, forgive me, --but isn't it rather apity to let oneself get intolerant? It does spoil life so. "

He looked at her. "There's not much in my life that could spoil, " hesaid gloomily. 

She laughed a little, but not derisively. "But there's always something, isn't there? Have you no sense of humour?"

He pulled up at the Vicarage gates. "I have a sense of the ridiculous, "he said bluntly. "And I detest it in the person of Miss Whalley. "

"I believe you detest a good many people, " Avery said, as she descended. 

He laughed himself at that. "But I am capable of appreciating the few, "he said. "Mind the step! And don't trouble to wait for me! I've got totie this animal up. "

He stopped to do so, and Avery opened the gate and walked slowlyup the path. 

At the porch she paused to await him, and turned her face for a moment tothe darkening sky. But the Star of Hope was veiled. 

CHAPTER XII

A PAIR OF GLOVES

"Piers! Where the devil are you, Piers?"

There was loud exasperation in the query as Sir Beverley halted in thedoorway of his grandson's bedroom. 

There was a moment's pause; then Victor the valet came quickly forward. 

"But, _Monsieur Pierre_, he bathe himself, " he explained, with beady eyesrunning over the gaunt old figure in the entrance. 

Sir Beverley growled at him inarticulately and turned away. 

A moment later he was beating a rousing tattoo on the bathroom-door. "Piers! Let me in! Do you hear? Let me in!"

The vigorous splashing within came to a sudden stop. "That you, sir?"called Piers. 

"Of course it's me!" shouted back Sir Beverley, shaking the doorwith fierce impatience. "Damn it, let me in! I'll force the door ifyou don't. "

"No, don't, sir; don't! I'm coming!"

There came the sound of a splashing leap, and bare feet raced across thebathroom floor. The door was wrenched from Sir Beverley's grasp, andflung open. Piers, quite naked, stood back and bowed him in withelaborate ceremony. 

Sir Beverley entered and glared at him. 

Piers shut the door and took a flying jump back into the bath. The roomwas dense with steam. 

"You don't mind if I go on with my wash, do you?" he said. "I shall belate for dinner if I don't. "

"What in thunder do you want to boil yourself like this for?" demandedSir Beverley. 

Piers, seated with his hands clasped round his knees, looked up with thesmile of an infant. "It suits my constitution, sir, " he said. "I freezemyself in the morning and boil myself at night--always. By that means Iam rendered impervious to all atmospheric changes of temperature. "

"You're a fool, Piers, " said Sir Beverley. 

Piers laughed, a gay, indifferent laugh. "That all?" he said lightly. 

"No, it isn't all. " Sir Beverley's voice had a curious forced ring, almost as if he were stern in spite of himself. "I came to ask--and Imean to know--" He broke off. "What the devil have you done to yourshoulders?"

Piers' hands unlocked as if at the touch of a spring. He slipped downbackwards into the bath and lay with the water lapping round his blackhead. His eyes, black also, and very straight and resolute, looked up atSir Beverley. 

"Look here, sir; if there's anything you want to know I'll tell you afterdinner. I thought--possibly--you'd come to shake hands, or I shouldn'thave been in such a hurry to let you in. As it is, --"

"Confound you, Piers!" broke in Sir Beverley. "Don't preach to me! Sit upagain! Do you hear? Sit up, and let me look at you!"

But Piers made no movement to comply. "No, sir; thanks all the same. Idon't want to be looked at. Do you mind going now? I'm going to splash. "

His tone was deliberately jaunty, but it held undoubted determination. He kept his eyes unswervingly on his grandfather's face. 

Sir Beverley stood his ground, however, his black brows fiercely drawn. "Get up, Piers!" he ordered, his tone no longer blustering, but curtlyperemptory. "Get up, do you hear?" he added with a gleam of humour. "Youmay as well give in at once, you young mule. You'll have to in the end. "

"Shall I?" said Piers. 

And then suddenly his own sense of humour was kindled again, and heuttered his boyish laugh. 

"We won't quarrel about it, what?" he said, and stretched a wet handupwards. "Let's consider the incident closed! There's nothing whatever tobe fashed about. "

Sir Beverley's thin lips twitched a little. He pulled at the hand, andslowly Piers yielded. The water dripped from his shoulders. They gleamedin the strong light like a piece of faultless statuary, godlike, superblystrong. But it was upon no splendour of form that Sir Beverley'sattention was focussed. 

He spoke after a moment, an odd note of contrition in his voice. "Ididn't mean to mark you like that, boy. It was your own doing of course. You shouldn't have interfered with me. Still--"

"Oh, rats!" said Piers, beginning to splash. "What's a whacking more orless when you're used to 'em?"

His dark eyes laughed their impudent dismissal to the old man. It wasvery evident that he desired to put an end to the matter, and after amoment Sir Beverley grunted and withdrew. 

He had not asked what he wanted to know; somehow it had not beenpossible. He had desired to put his question in a whirl of righteousindignation, but in some fashion Piers had disarmed him and it hadremained unuttered. 

The very sight of the straight, young figure had quenched the fire ofhis wrath. Confound the boy! Did he think he could insult him as he hadinsulted him only that afternoon and then twist him round his littlefinger? He would have it out with him presently. He would have the truthand no compromise, if he had to wring it out of him. He would--Again thevision of those strong young shoulders, with red stripes crossing theirgleaming white surface, rose before Sir Beverley. He swore a strangledoath. No, he hadn't meant to punish the boy to that extent, his infernalimpudence notwithstanding. It wasn't the first time he had thrashed him, and, egad, it mightn't be the last. But he hadn't meant to administerquite such a punishment as that. It was decent of the young rascal not tosulk after it, though he wasn't altogether sure that he approved of thelight fashion with which Piers had elected to treat the whole episode. Itlooked as if he had not wholly taken to heart the lesson Sir Beverley hadintended to convey, and if that were the case--again Sir Beverley sworedeep in his soul--he was fully equal to repeating it, ay, and againrepeating it, until the youngster came to heel. He never had endured anynonsense from Piers, and, by Gad, he never would!

With these reflections he stumped downstairs, and seated himself on theblack, oaken settle in the hall to await the boy's advent. 

The fire blazed cheerily, flinging ruddy gleams upon the shining suits ofarmour, roaring up the chimney in a sheet of flame. Sir Beverley satfacing the stairs, the grim lines hardened to implacability about hismouth, his eyes fixed in a stare that had in it something brutal. He wasseeing again that slim, straight figure of womanhood standing in hispath, with arms outstretched, and white, determined face upraised, barring the way. 

"Curse her!" he growled. "Curse 'em all!"

The vision grew before his gaze of hate; and now she was no longerstanding between him and a mere, defenceless animal. But there, on hisown stairs, erect and fearless, she withstood him, while behind her, descending with a laugh on his lips and worship in his eyes, came Piers. 

The stone-grey eyes became suffused; for a few, whirling moments ofbewilderment and fury, they saw all things red. Then, gradually, the mistcleared, and the old man dropped back in a lounging posture with an uglysound in his throat that was like a snarl. Doubtless that was her game;doubtless--doubtless! He had always known that a day would come whensomething of the kind would happen. Piers was young, wealthy, handsome, --a catch for any woman; but--fiercely he swore it--he shouldfall a prey to no schemer. When he married--as marry eventually hemust--he should make an alliance of which any man might be proud. TheEvesham blood should mix with none but the highest. In Piers he would seethe father's false step counteracted. He thanked Heaven that he had neverbeen able to detect in the boy any trace of the piece of cheap prettinessthat had given him birth. He might have been his own son, son of thewoman who had been the rapture and the ruin of his life. There were timeswhen Sir Beverley almost wished he had been, albeit in the bitterness ofhis soul he had never had any love for the child she had borne him. 

He had never wanted to love Piers either, but somehow the matter had notrested with him. From the arms of Victor, Piers had always yearned to hisgrandfather, wailing lustily till he found himself held to the hard oldheart that had nought but harshness and intolerance for all the worldbeside. He had as it were taken that unwilling heart by storm, claimingit as his right before he was out of his cradle. And later the attachmentbetween them had grown and thriven, for Piers had never relinquished theground he had won in babyhood. By sheer arrogance of possession he hadheld his own till the impetuous ardour of his affection and the utterfearlessness on which it was founded had made of him the cherished idolof the heart which had tried to shut him out. Sir Beverley gloried in theboy though he still flattered himself that no one suspected the fact, andstill believed that his rule was a rule of stern discipline under whichPiers might chafe but against which he would never openly revolt. 

He could not remember a single occasion upon which he had not been ableto master Piers, possibly after a fierce struggle but always withabsolute completeness in the end. And there was so much of sweetness inthe youngster's nature that, unruly though he might be, he never nurtureda grievance. He would fight for his own way to the last of his strength, but when beaten he always yielded with a good grace. To his grandfatheralone he could submit without any visible wound to his pride. Who couldhelp glorying in a boy like that?

David the butler, a man of infinite respectability, came softly into thehall and approached his master. 

"Are you ready for dinner, Sir Beverley?"

"No, " snapped Sir Beverley. "Can't you see Master Piers isn't here?"

"Very good, sir, " murmured David, and retired decorously, fading intothe background without the faintest sound, while Caesar the Dalmatianwho had entered with him lay sedately down in well-bred silence at SirBeverley's feet. 

There fell a pause, while Sir Beverley's eyes returned to the wide oakstaircase, watching it ceaselessly, with vulture-like intentness. Thenafter the passage of minutes, there came the sound of feet that literallyscampered along the corridor above, and in a moment, with meteor-likesuddenness, Piers flashed into view. 

He seemed to descend the stairs without touching them, and was greetedat the foot by Caesar, who leapt to meet him with wide-mouthed delight. 

"Hullo, you scamp, hullo!" laughed Piers, responding to the dog'scaresses with a careless hand. "Out of the way with you! I'm late. "

"As usual, " observed Sir Beverley, leaning slowly forward, still with hiseyes unblinkingly fixed upon his grandson's merry face. "Come here, boy!"

Piers came to him unabashed. 

Sir Beverley got heavily to his feet and took him by the shoulder. "Whois that woman, Piers?" he said, regarding him piercingly. 

Piers' forehead was instantly drawn by a quick frown. He stood passive, but there was a suggestion of resistance about him notwithstanding. 

"Whom do you mean, sir?" he said. "What woman?"

"You know very well who I mean, " snarled Sir Beverley. "Come, I'll havenone of your damn' nonsense. Never have stood it and never will. Who wasthat white-faced cat that got in my way this afternoon and helped you toa thrashing? Eh, Piers? Who was she, I say? Who was she?"

Piers made a sharp involuntary movement of the hands, and as swiftlyrestrained himself. He looked his grandfather full in the face. 

"Ask me after dinner, sir, " he said, speaking with something of aneffort, "and I'll tell you all I know. "

"You'll tell me now!" declared Sir Beverley, shaking the shoulder hegripped with savage impatience. 

But Piers put up a quick hand and stopped him. "No, sir, not now. Comeand dine first! I've no mind to go dinnerless to bed. Come, sir, don'tbadger me!" He smiled suddenly and very winningly into the stern greyeyes. "There's all the evening before us, and I shan't shirk. "

He drew the bony old hand away from his shoulder, and pulled itthrough his arm. 

"I suppose you think you're irresistible, " grumbled Sir Beverley. "Idon't know why I put up with you; on my soul, I don't, you impudentyoung dog!"

Piers laughed. "Let's do one thing at a time anyway, and I'm ravenous fordinner. So must you be. Come along! Let's trot in and have it!"

He had his way. Sir Beverley went with him, though half against his will. They entered the dining-room still linked together, and a woman's facesmiled down upon them from a picture-frame on the wall with a smilehalf-sad, half-mocking--such a smile as even at that moment curved Piers'lips, belying the reckless gaiety of his eyes. 

They dined in complete amicability. Piers had plenty to say at all times, and he showed himself completely at his ease. He was the only person inthe world who ever was so in Sir Beverley's presence. He even now andthen succeeded in provoking a sardonic laugh from his grandfather. Hisown laughter was boyishly spontaneous. 

But at the end of the meal, when wine was placed upon the table, hesuddenly ceased his careless chatter, and leaned forward with his darkeyes full upon Sir Beverley's face. 

"Now, sir, you want to know the name of the girl who wasn't afraid of youthis afternoon, I mentioned her to you once before. Her name is AveryDenys. She is a widow; and she calls herself the mother's help at theVicarage. "

He gave his information with absolute steadiness. His voice waswholly free from emotion of any sort, but it rang a trifle stern, andhis mouth--that sensitive, clean-cut mouth of his--had the grimnessof an iron resolution about it. Sir Beverley looked at him frowninglyover his wine. 

"The woman who threw a pail of water over you once, eh?" he said, aftera moment. "I suppose she has become a very special friend inconsequence. "

"I doubt if she would call herself so, " said Piers. 

The old man's mouth took a bitter, downward curve. "You see, you'rerather young, " he observed. 

Piers' eyes fell away from his abruptly. "Yes, I know, " he said, in atone that seemed to hide more than it expressed. 

Sir Beverley continued to stare at him, but he did not lift his eyesagain. They were fixed steadily upon the ruby light that shone in thewine in front of him. 

The silence lengthened and became oppressive. Sir Beverley still watchedPiers' intent face. His lips moved soundlessly, while behind his silencethe storm of his wrath gathered. 

What did the boy mean by treating him like this? Did he think he wouldendure to be set aside thus deliberately as one whose words had noweight? Did he think--confound him!--did he think that he had reachedhis dotage?

A sudden oath escaped him; he banged a furious fist upon the table. Hewould make himself heard at least. 

In the same instant quite unexpectedly Piers leaped to his feet withuplifted hand. "What's that?"

"What do you mean?" thundered Sir Beverley. 

Piers' hand descended, gripping his arm. "That, sir, that! Don'tyou hear?"

Voice and gesture compelled. Sir Beverley stopped dead, arrested in fullcareer by his grandson's insistence, and listened with pent breath, asPiers was listening. 

For a moment or two he heard nothing, then, close outside the window, there arose the sound of children's voices. They were singing a hymn, butnot in the customary untuneful yell of the village school. The voiceswere clear and sweet and true, and the words came distinct and pure tothe two men standing at the table. 

"He comes, the prisoners to releaseIn Satan's bondage held, The gates of brass before Him burst, The iron fetters yield. "

Piers' hand tightened all-unconsciously upon Sir Beverley's arm. His facewas very white. In his eyes there shone a curious hunger--such a look asmight have gleamed in the eyes of the prisoners behind the gates. 

Again came the words, triumphantly repeated:

"The gates of brass before Him burst, The iron fetters yield. "

And an odd sound that was almost a sob broke from Piers. 

Sir Beverley looked at him sharply; but in the same moment he drewback, relinquishing his hold, and stepped lightly across the room tothe window. 

There was a decided pause before the next verse. Piers stood with hisface to the blind, making no movement. At last, tentatively, like thesong of a very shy angel, a single boy's voice took up the melody. 

"He comes, the broken heart to bind, The bleeding soul to cure, And with the treasures of His graceTo bless the humble poor. "

Sir Beverley sat down again at the table. Half mechanically his eyesturned to the pictured face on the wall, the face that smiled soenigmatically. Not once in a year did his eyes turn that way. To-night heregarded it with half-ironical interest. He had no pity to spare forbroken hearts. He did not believe in them. No man could have endured morethan he had had to endure. He had been dragged through hell itself. Butit had hardened, not broken his heart. Save in one respect he knew thathe could never be made to suffer any more. Save for that charredremnant, there was nothing left for the flame to consume. 

And so through all the bitter years he had borne that smiling face uponhis wall, cynically indifferent to the beauty which had been the raptureand the agony of his life, --a man released from the place of his tormentbecause his capacity for suffering was almost gone. 

Again there were two children's voices singing, and that of the shy angelgathered confidence. With a species of scoffing humour Sir Beverley'sstony eyes travelled to the window. They rested upon his boy standingthere with bent head--a mute, waiting figure with a curious touch ofpathos in its pose. Sir Beverley's sudden frown drew his forehead. Whatailed the youngster? Why did he stand as if the whole world were restingon his shoulders?

He made an impatient movement. "For Heaven's sake, " he said testily, "tell those squalling children to go!"

Piers did not stir. "In a moment, sir!" he said. 

And so, clear through the night air, the last verse came unhinderedto an end. 

"Our glad hosannas, Prince of peace, Thy welcome shall proclaim;And Heaven's eternal arches ringWith Thy beloved Name. And Heaven's eternal arches ringWith Thy beloved Name. "

Piers threw up his head with a sudden, spasmodic movement as of adrowning man. And then without pause he snatched up the blind and flungthe window wide. 

"Hi, you kiddies! Where are you? Don't run away! Gracie, is that you?"

There was a brief silence, then chirpily came the answer. "Pat did thesolo; but he's gone. He would have gone sooner--when we saw your shadowon the blind--only I held him so that he couldn't. "

Piers broke into a laugh. "Well, come in now you are here! You're notafraid anyhow, what?"

"Oh no!" laughed Gracie. "I'm not a bit afraid. But I'm supposed to be inbed; and if Father finds out I'm not--" She paused with her customarysense of the dramatic. 

"Well?" laughed Piers. "What'll happen then?"

"I shall cop it, " said Gracie elegantly. 

Nevertheless she came to him, and stood on the grass outside the window. The lamplight from within shone on her upturned face with its saucy, confiding smile. Her head was uncovered and gleamed golden in theradiance. She was wearing a very ancient fur cloak belonging to hermother, and she glowed like a rose in the sombre drapery. 

Piers stooped to her with hands invitingly outstretched. "Come along, Pixie! We shan't eat you, and I'll take you home on my shoulderafterwards and see you don't get copped. "

She uttered a delighted little laugh, and went upwards into his hold likea scrap of floating thistledown. 

He lifted her high in his arms, crossed the room with her, and set herdown before the old man who still sat at the table, sardonicallywatching. "Miss Gracie Lorimer!" he said. 

"Hullo, child!" growled Sir Beverley. 

Gracie looked at him with sparkling, adventurous eyes. As she had toldPiers, she was not a bit afraid. After the briefest pause she held outher hand with charming _insouciance_. 

"How do you do?" she said. 

Sir Beverley slowly took the hand, and pulled her towards him, gazing ather from under his black brows with a piercing scrutiny that would haveterrified a more timid child. 

Timidity however was not one of Gracie's weaknesses. She gave him afriendly smile, and waited without the smallest sign of uneasiness forhim to speak. 

"What have you come here for?" he demanded gruffly at length. 

"I'll tell you, " said Gracie readily. She went close to him, confidinglyclose, looking straight into the formidable grey eyes. "You see, it wasmy idea. Pat didn't want to come, but I made him. "

"Forward young minx!" commented Sir Beverley. 

Gracie laughed at the compliment. 

Piers, smoking his cigarette behind her, stood ready to take her part, but quite obviously she was fully equal to the occasion. 

"Yes, I know, " she agreed, with disarming amiability. "But it wouldn'thave mattered a bit if you hadn't found out who it was. You won't tellanyone, will you?"

"Why not?" demanded Sir Beverley. 

Gracie pulled down her red lips, and cast up her dancing eyes. "There'dbe such a scandal, " she said. 

Piers broke into an involuntary laugh, and Sir Beverley's thin lipstwitched in a reluctant smile. 

"You're a saucy little baggage!" he observed. "Well, get on! Let's hearwhat you've come for! Cadging money, I'll be bound. "

Gracie nodded in eager confirmation of this suggestion. "That's just it!"she said. "And that's where the scandal would come in if you told. Yousee, poor children can go round squalling carols to their hearts' contentfor pennies, but children like us who want pennies just as much haven'tany way of getting them. We mayn't carry hand-bags, or opencarriage-doors, or turn cart-wheels, or--or do anything to earn a living. It's hard luck, you know. "

"Beastly shame!" said Piers. 

Sir Beverley scowled at him. "You needn't stick your oar in. Go andshut the window, do you hear? Now, child, let's have the truth, so faras any female is capable of speaking it! You've come here for pennies, you say. Don't you know that's a form of begging? And begging isbreaking the law. "

"I often do that, " said Grade, quite undismayed. "So would you, if youwere me. I expect you did too when you were young. "

"I!" Sir Beverley uttered a harsh laugh, and released the child's hand. "So you break the law, do you?" he said. "How often?"

Gracie's laugh followed his like a silvery echo. "I shan't tell you 'cosyou're a magistrate. But we weren't really begging, Pat and I. At leastit wasn't for ourselves. "

"Oh, of course not!" said Sir Beverley. 

She looked at him with her clear eyes, unconscious of irony. "No. Wewanted to buy a pair of gloves for someone for Christmas. And nicegloves cost such a lot, don't they? And we hadn't got more thantenpence-halfpenny among us. So I said I'd think of a plan to get more. And--that was the plan, " ended Grade, with her sweetest smile. 

"I see, " said Sir Beverley, with his eyes still fixed immovably upon her. "And what made you come here?"

"Oh, we came here just because of Piers, " said Grade, without hesitation. "You see, he's a great friend of ours. "

"Is he?" said Sir Beverley. "And so you think you'll get what you can outof him, eh?"

"Sir!" said Piers sharply. 

"Be quiet, Piers!" ordered his grandfather testily. "Who spoke to you?Well, madam, continue! How much do you consider him good for?"

Piers pulled a coin impetuously from his pocket and slapped it down onthe table in front of Grade. "There you are, Pixie!" he said. "I'm goodfor that. "

Gracie stared at the coin with widening eyes, not offering to touch it. 

"Oh, Piers!" she said, with a long indrawn breath. "It's a wholesovereign! Oh no!"

He laughed a reckless laugh, while over her head his eyes challenged hisgrandfather's. "That's all right, Piccaninny, " he said lightly. "Put itin your pocket! And I'll come round with the car to-morrow and run youinto Wardenhurst to buy those gloves. "

But Gracie shook her head. "Gloves don't cost all that, " she saidpractically. "And besides, you won't have any left for yourself. Fancygiving away a whole sovereign at a time!" She addressed Sir Beverley. "Itseems almost a tempting of Providence, doesn't it!"

"The deed of a fool!" said Sir Beverley. 

But Piers, with a sudden hardening of the jaw, stooped over Gracie. "Takeit!" he said. "I wish it. "

She looked up at him. "No, Piers; I mustn't really. It's ever so nice ofyou. " She rubbed her golden head against his shoulder caressingly. "Please don't be cross! I do thank you--awfully. But I don't want it. Really, I don't. "

"Rot!" said Piers. "Do as I tell you! Take it!"

Gracie turned to Sir Beverley. "I can't, can I? Tell him I can't!"

But Piers was not to be thwarted. With a sudden dive he seized the coinand without ceremony swept Gracie's hair from her shoulders and droppedit down the back of her neck. 

"There!" he said, slipping his hands over her arms and holding her whileshe squealed and writhed. "It's quite beyond reach. You can't in decencyreturn it now. It's no good wriggling. You won't get it up again unlessyou stand on your head. "

"You're horrid--horrid!" protested Gracie; but she reached back andkissed him notwithstanding. "Thank you ever so much. I hope I shan't loseit. But I don't know what I shall do with it all. It's quite dreadful tothink of. Please don't be cross with him!" she said to Sir Beverley. "It's--awfully--kind. "

Sir Beverley smiled sardonically. "And whom are the gloves for? Someother kind youth?"

"Oh no!" she laughed. "Only Aunt Avery. She tore hers all to bits thisafternoon. I expect it was over a dog fight or something, but shewouldn't tell us what. They were nice gloves too. She isn't a bit rich, but she always wears nice gloves. "

"Being a woman!" growled Sir Beverley. 

"Don't you like women?" asked Gracie sympathetically. "I like men besttoo as a rule. But Aunt Avery is so very sweet. No one could help lovingher, could they, Piers?"

"Have an orange!" said Piers, pulling the dish towards him. 

"Oh, thank you, I mustn't stop, " Gracie turned to Sir Beverley and liftedher bright face. "Good-bye! Thank you for being so kind. "

There was no irony in her thanks, and even he could scarcely refuse thefriendly offer of her lips. He stooped and grimly received her farewellsalute on his cheek. 

Piers loaded her with as many oranges as she could carry, and theyfinally departed through the great hall which Gracie surveyed with eyesof reverent admiration. 

"It's as big as a church, " she said, in an awed whisper. 

Sir Beverley followed them to the front-door, and saw them out into thenight. Gracie waved an ardent farewell from her perch on Piers' shoulder, and he heard the merry childish laugh more than once after they hadpassed from sight. 

The night air was chilly, and he turned inwards at length with aninarticulate growl, and shut the door. 

Heavily he tramped across to the old carved settle before the fire, anddropped down upon it, his whole bearing expressive of utter weariness. 

David came in with stealthy footfall and softly replenished the fire. 

"Shall I bring the coffee, Sir Beverley?" he asked him. 

"No, " said Sir Beverley. "I'll ring. "

And David effaced himself without sound. 

Half an hour passed, and Sir Beverley still sat there motionless as astatue, with thin lips drawn in a single bitter line, and eyes that gazedaloofly at the fire. The silence was intense. The hall seemed desolateas a vault. Over in a corner a grandfather's clock ticked the secondsaway--slowly, monotonously, as though very weary of its task. 

Suddenly in the distance there came a faint sound, the opening of a door;and a breath of night-air, pure and cold, blew in across the stillness. In a moment there followed a light, elastic step, and Piers came intoview at the other end of the hall. He moved swiftly as though he trodair. His head was thrown back, his face rapt and intent as though he sawa vision. He did not see the lonely figure sitting there before thehearth, but turned aside ere he neared it and entered an unlighted room, shutting himself gently in. 

Again the silence descended, but only for a few seconds. Then softly itwas dispelled, as through it there stole the tender, passionate-sweetharmonies of a Chopin nocturne. 

At the first note Sir Beverley started, almost winced as at the suddenpiercing of a nerve. Then as the music continued, he leaned rigidly backagain and became as still as before. 

Very softly the music thrilled through the silence. It might have comefrom somewhere very far away. There was something almost unearthly aboutit, a depth and a mystery that seemed to spread as it were invisiblewings, filling the place with dim echoes of the Divine. 

It died away at last into a silence like the hush of prayer. And then thestill figure of the old man before the fire became suddenly vitalized. Hesat up abruptly and seized with impatience a small hand-bell from thetable beside him. 

David made his discreet appearance with the coffee almost at thefirst tinkle. 

"Coffee!" his master flung at him. "And fetch Master Piers!"

David set down the tray at his master's elbow, and turned to obey thesecond behest. But the door of the drawing-room opened ere he reachedit, and Piers came out. His dark eyes were shining. He whistled softlyas he came. 

David stood respectfully on one side, and Piers passed him like a man ina dream. He came to his grandfather, and threw himself on to the settleby his side in silence. 

"Well?" said Sir Beverley. "You took that chattering monkey back, I suppose?"

Piers started and seemed to awake. "Oh yes, I got her safely home. We hadto dodge the Reverend Stephen. But it was all right. She and the boy gotin without being caught. "

He stirred his coffee thoughtfully, and fell silent again. 

"You'd better go to bed, " said Sir Beverley abruptly. 

Piers looked up, meeting the hard grey eyes with the memory of his dreamstill lingering in his own. 

Slowly the dream melted. He began to smile. "I think I'd better, " hesaid. "I'm infernally sleepy, and it's getting late. " He drank off hiscoffee and rose. "You must be pretty tired yourself, sir, " he remarked. "Time you trotted to bed too. "

He moved round to the back of the settle and paused, looking down at thethick white hair with a curious expression of hesitancy in his eyes. 

"Oh, go on! Go on!" said Sir Beverley irritably. "What are youwaiting for?"

Piers stooped impulsively in response, his hand on the old man'sshoulder, and kissed him on the forehead. 

"Good-night, sir!" he said softly. 

The action was purely boyish. It pleaded for tolerance. Sir Beverleyjerked his head impatiently, but he did not repulse him. 

"There! Be off with you!" he said. "Go to bed and behave yourself!Good-night, you scamp! Good-night!"

And Piers went from him lightfooted, a smile upon his lips. He knew thathis tacit overture for peace had been accepted for the time at least. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE VISION

It was growing very dark in the little church, almost too dark to see thecarving of the choir-stalls, and Avery gave a short sigh of weariness. 

She had so nearly finished her task that she had sent the children in toprepare for tea, declaring that she would follow them in five minutes, and then just at the last a whole mass of ivy and holly, upon which theboys had been at work, had slipped and strewn the chancel-floor. She wasthe only one left in the church, and it behooved her to remove thelitter. It had been a hard day, and she was frankly tired of the verysight and smell of the evergreens. 

There was no help for it, however. The chancel must be made tidy beforeshe could go, and she went to the cupboard under the belfry for thedustpan and brush which the sexton's wife kept there. She found a candlealso, and thus armed she returned to the scene of her labours at theother end of the dim little church. She tried to put her customary energyinto the task, but it would not rise to the occasion, and after a fewstrenuous seconds she paused to rest. 

It was very still and peaceful, and she was glad of the solitude. All daylong she had felt the need of it; and all day long it had been deniedher. She had been decorating under Miss Whalley's superintendence, andthe task had been no light one. Save for the fact that she had gone inMrs. Lorimer's stead, she had scarcely undertaken it. For Miss Whalleywas as exacting as though the church were her own private property. Shedeferred to the Vicar alone, and he was more than willing to leave thematter in her hands. "My capable assistant" was his pet name for thisformidable member of his flock, and very conscientiously did Miss Whalleymaintain her calling. She would have preferred to direct Mrs. Lorimerrather than the mother's help, but since the latter had firmly determinedto take the former's place, she had accepted her with condescension andallotted to her all the hardest work. 

Avery had laboured uncomplainingly in her quiet, methodical fashion, butnow that the stress was over and Miss Whalley safely installed in theVicarage drawing-room for tea, she found it impossible not to relaxsomewhat, and to make the most of those few exquisite moments ofsanctuary. 

She was very far from expecting any invasion of her solitude, and whenafter a moment or two she went on with her sweeping she had no suspicionof another presence in the dark building. She had set herself resolutelyto finish her task, and so energetic was she that she heard no sound offeet along the aisle behind her. 

Some unaccountable impulse induced her to pause at length and stillkneeling, brush in hand, to throw a backward glance along the nave. Thenit was that she saw a man's figure standing on the chancel-steps, and sounexpected was the apparition that her weary nerves leapt with violenceout of all proportion to the event, and she sprang to her feet with astartled cry that echoed weirdly through the empty place. Then with arush of self-ridicule she recognized Piers Evesham. "Oh, it is you!" shesaid. "How stupid of me!"

He came straight to her with an air of determination that would brook noopposition and took the brush out of her hand. "That's not your job, " hesaid. "You go and sit down!"

She stared at him in silence, trying to still the wild agitation that hisunlooked-for coming had raised in her. He was wearing a heavy motor-coat, but he divested himself of this, and without further parley bent himselfto the task of which he had deprived her. 

Avery sat down somewhat limply on the pulpit-stairs and watched him. Hewas very thorough and far brisker than she could have been. In a very fewminutes the litter was all collected, and Piers turned round and lookedback at her across the dim chancel. 

"Feeling better?" he said. 

She did not answer him. "What made you come in like that?" she asked. 

He replied to the question with absolute simplicity. "I've just broughtGracie home again. She asked me to tea in the schoolroom, but you weren'tthere, and they said I should find you here, so I came to fetch you. "

He moved slowly across and stood before her, looking down into her tiredeyes with an odd species of relentlessness in his own. 

"It's an infernal shame that you should work so hard!" he said, withsudden resentment. "You're looking fagged to death. "

Avery smiled a little. "I like hard work, " she said. 

"Not such as this!" said Piers. "It isn't fit for you. Why can't the lazyhound do it himself?"

Her smile passed. "Hush, Piers!" she said. "Not here!"

He glanced towards the altar, and she thought a shade of reverence cameinto his face for a moment. But he turned to her again immediately withhis flashing, boyish smile. 

"Well, it isn't good for you to overwork, you know, Avery. I hate tothink of it. And you have no one to take care of you and see you don't. "

Avery got up slowly. Her own face was severe in the candlelight, butbefore she could speak he went lightly on. 

"Would you like me to play you something before we go? Or are you tootired to blow? It's rather a shame to suggest it. But it's such a grandopportunity. "

Avery turned at once to the organ with a feeling of relief. As usual shefound it very hard to rebuke him as he deserved. 

"Yes, I will blow for you, " she said. "But it must be something short, for we ought to be going. "

She sat down and began to blow. 

Piers took his place at once at the organ. It was characteristic of himthat he never paused for inspiration. His fingers moved over the keys asit were by instinct, and in a few moments Avery forgot that she was tiredand dispirited with the bearing of many burdens, forgot all the problemsand difficulties of life, forgot even her charges at the Vicarage and thewaiting schoolroom tea, and sat wrapt as it were in a golden mist ofdelight, watching the slow spreading of a dawn such as she had never seeneven in her dreams. What he played she knew not, and yet the music wasnot wholly unfamiliar to her. It waked within her soul harmonies thatvibrated in throbbing response. He spoke to her in a language that sheknew. And as the magic moments passed, the wonderful dawn so grew anddeepened that it seemed to her that all pain, all sorrow, had fallenutterly away, and she stood on the threshold of a new world. 

Wider and wider spread the glory. There came to her an overwhelming senseof greatness about to be revealed. She became strung to a pitch ofexpectancy that was almost anguish, while the music swelled and swelledlike the distant coming of a vast procession as yet unseen. She stood asit were on a mountain-top before the closed gates of heaven, waiting forthe moment of revelation. 

It came. Just when she felt that she could bear no more, just when thewild beating of her heart seemed as if it would choke her, the musicchanged, became suddenly all-conquering, a paean of triumph, and thegates swung back before her eager eyes. 

In spirit she entered the Holy Place, and the same hand that had admittedher lifted for her the last great Veil. For one moment of unutterablerapture such as no poor palpitating mortal body could endure for long, the vision was her own. She saw Heaven opened.... 

And then the Veil descended, and the Gates closed. She came down from themountain-top, leaving the golden dawn very far behind her. She opened hereyes in darkness and silence. 

Someone was bending over her. She felt warm hands about her own. Sheheard a voice, sudden and imploring, close to her. 

"Avery! Avery darling! For God's sake, dear, speak to me! What is it?Are you ill?"

"Ill!" she said, bewildered. 

His hands gripped hers impetuously. "You gave me such a fright, " he said. "I thought you'd fainted. Did you faint?"

"Of course not!" she said slowly. "I never faint. Why did you stopplaying?"

"I didn't, " said Piers. "At least, you stopped first. "

"Oh, did I forget to blow?" she said. "I'm sorry. "

She knew that she ought not to suffer that close clasp of his, butsomehow for the moment she was powerless to resist it. She sat quitestill, gazing out before her with a curious sense of powerlessness. 

"You're tired out, " said Piers softly. "It was a shame to keep you here. I'm awfully sorry, dear. "

She stirred at that, beginning to seek for freedom. "Don't, Piers!" shesaid. "It--it isn't right of you. It isn't fair. "

He knelt swiftly down before her. His voice came quick and passionate inanswer. "It can't be wrong to love you, " he said. "And you will never beany the worse for my love. Let me love you, Avery! Let me love you!"

The words rushed out tempestuously. His forehead was bowed upon herhands. He became silent, and through the silence she heard his breathing, hard and difficult, --the breathing of a man who faces stupendous odds. 

With an effort she summoned her strength. Yet she could not speak harshlyto him, for her heart went out in pity. "No, you mustn't, Piers, " shesaid. "You mustn't indeed. I am years older than you are, and it isutterly unsuitable. You must forget it. You must indeed. There! Let us befriends! I like you well enough for that. "

He uttered a laugh that sounded as though it covered a groan. "Yes, you're awfully good to me, " he said. "But you're not--in onesense--anything approaching my age, and pray Heaven you never will be!"

He raised his head and looked at her. "And you're not angry with me?" hesaid, half wistfully. 

No, she was not angry. She could not even pretend to be. "But please besensible!" she begged. "I know it was partly my fault. If I hadn't beenso tired, it wouldn't have happened. "

He got to his feet, still holding her hands. "No; you're not to blameyourself, " he said. "What has happened was bound to happen, right fromthe very beginning. But I'm sorry if it has upset you. There is no reasonwhy it should that I can see. You are better now?"

He helped her gently to rise. They stood face to face in the dimcandlelight, and his eyes looked into hers with such friendly concernthat again she had it not in her heart to be other than kind. 

"I am quite well, " she assured him. "Please forget my foolishness! Tellme what it was you played just now!"

"That last thing?" he said. "Surely you know that! It was Handel's_Largo_. "

She started. "Of course! I remember now! But--I've never heard it playedlike that before. "

A very strange smile crossed his face. "No one but you would haveunderstood, " he said. "I wanted you to hear it--like that. "

She withdrew her hands from his. Something in his words sent a curiousfeeling that was almost dread through her heart. 

"I don't--quite--know what you mean, " she said. 

"Don't you?" said Piers, and in his voice there rang a note ofrecklessness. "It's a difficult thing to put into words, isn't it? I justwanted you to see the Open Heaven as I have seen it--and as I shall neversee it again. "

"Piers!" she said. 

He answered her almost fiercely. "No, you won't understand. Of course youcan't understand. You will never stand hammering at the bars, breakingyour heart in the dark. Wasn't that the sort of picture our kindly parsondrew for us on Sunday? It's a pretty theme--the tortures of the damned!"

"My dear Piers!" Avery spoke quickly and vehemently. "Surely you have toomuch sense to take such a discourse as that seriously! I longed to tellthe children not to listen. It is wicked--wicked--to try to spreadspiritual terror in people's hearts, and to call it the teaching ofreligion. It is no more like religion than a penny-terrible is like life. It is a cruel and fantastic distortion of the truth. "

She paused. Piers was listening to her with that odd hunger in his eyesthat had looked out of them the night before. 

"You don't believe in hell then?" he said quietly, after a moment. 

"As a place of future torment--no!" she said. "The only real hell is hereon earth--here in our hearts when we fall away from God. Hell is thestate of sin and all that goes with it--the fiery hell of the spirit. Itis here and now. How could it be otherwise? Can you imagine a God of Lovedevising hideous tortures hereafter, for the punishment of the pigmieswho had offended Him? Tortures that were never to do them any good, butjust to keep them in misery for ever and ever? It is unthinkable--it'salmost ludicrous. What is the good of suffering except to purify? That wecan understand and thank God for. But the other--oh, the other is sheerimagery, more mythical than Jonah and the whale. It just doesn't go. "Again she paused, then very frankly held out her hand to him. "But I likeyour picture of the Open Heaven, Piers, " she said. "Show it me again someday--when I'm not as tired and stupid as I am to-day. "

He bent over her hand with a gesture that betrayed the foreign blood inhim, and his lips, hot and passionate, pressed her cold fingers. He didnot utter a word. Only when he stood up again he looked at her with eyesthat burned with the deep fires of manhood, and suddenly all-unbiddenthe woman's heart in her quivered in response. She bent her head andturned away. 

CHAPTER XIV

A MAN'S CONFIDENCE

"Aren't you going to kiss Aunt Avery under the mistletoe?" asked Gracie. 

"No, " said Piers. "Aunt Avery may kiss me if she likes. " He looked atAvery with his sudden, boyish laugh. "But I know she doesn't like, sothat's an end of the matter. "

"How do you know?" persisted Gracie. "She's very fond of kissing. Andanyone may kiss under the mistletoe. "

"That quite does away with the charm of it in my opinion, " declaredPiers. "I don't appreciate things when you can get 'em cheap. "

He moved over to Jeanie's sofa and sat down on the edge. Her soft eyessmiled a welcome, the little thin hand slipped into his. 

"I've been wishing for you all day long, " she said. 

He leaned towards her. "Have you, my fairy queen? Well, I'm here atlast. "

Avery, from the head of the schoolroom table, looked across at them witha feeling of fulness at her heart. She never liked Piers so well as whenshe saw him in company with her little favourite. His gentleness andchivalry made of him a very perfect knight. 

"Yes, " said Jeanie, giving his hand a little squeeze. "We're going tohave our Christmas Tree to-night, and Dr. Tudor is coming. You don't likehim, I know. But he's really quite a nice man. "

She spoke the last words pleadingly, in response to a slight frownbetween Piers' brows. 

"Oh, is he?" said Piers, without enthusiasm. 

"He's been very kind, " said Jeanie in a tone of apology. 

"He'd better be anything else--to you!" said Piers, with a smile that wassomewhat grim. 

Jeanie's fingers caressed his again propitiatingly. "Do let's all be niceto each other just for to-night!" she said. 

Piers' smile became tender again. "As your gracious majesty decrees!" hesaid. "Where is the ceremony to be held?"

"Up in the nursery. We've had the little ones in here all day, whileMother and Nurse have been getting it ready. I haven't seen it yet. "

"Can't we creep up when no one's looking and have a private view?"suggested Piers. 

Jeanie beamed at the idea. "I would like to, for I've been in the secretfrom the very beginning. But you must finish your tea first. We'll gowhen the crackers begin. "

As the pulling of crackers was the signal for every child at the table tomake as much noise as possible, it was not difficult to effect theirretreat without exciting general attention. Avery alone noted theirdeparture and smiled at Jeanie's flushed face as the child noddedfarewell to her over Piers' shoulder. 

"You do carry me so beautifully, " Jeanie confided to him as he mountedthe stairs to the top of the house. "I love the feel of your arms. Theyare so strong and kind. You're sure I'm not too heavy?"

"I could carry a dozen of you, " said Piers. 

They found the nursery brilliantly lighted and lavishly adorned withfestoons of coloured paper. 

"Aunt Avery and I did most of that, " said Jeanie proudly. 

Piers bore her round the room, admiring every detail, finally depositingher in a big arm-chair close to the tall screen that hid the ChristmasTree. Jeanie's leg was mending rapidly, and gave her little trouble now. She lay back contentedly, with shining eyes upon her cavalier. 

"It was very nice of you to be so kind to Gracie last night, " she said. "She told me all about it to-day. Of course she ought not to have doneit. I hope--I hope Sir Beverley wasn't angry about it. "

Piers laughed a little. "Oh no! He got over it. Was Gracie scared?"

"Not really. She said she thought he wasn't quite pleased with you. I dohope he didn't think it was your fault. "

"My shoulders are fairly broad, " said Piers. 

"Yes, but it wouldn't be right, " maintained Jeanie. "I think I ought towrite to him and explain. "

"No, no!" said Piers. "You leave the old chap alone. Heunderstands--quite as much as he wants to understand. "

There was a note of bitterness in his voice which Jeanie was quick todiscern. She reached up a sympathetic hand to his. "Dear Sir Galahad!"she said softly. 

Piers looked down at her for a few moments in silence. And then, verysuddenly, moved by the utter devotion that looked back at him from hereyes, he went down on his knees beside her and held her to his heart. 

"It's a beast of a world, Jeanie, " he said. 

"Is it?" whispered Jeanie, with his hand pressed tight against her cheek. 

There was silence between them for a little space; then she lifted herface to his, to murmur in a motherly tone, "I expect you're tired. "

"Tired!" said Piers with gloomy vehemence. "Yes, I am tired--sick todeath of everything. I'm like a dog on a chain. I can see what I want, but it's always just out of my reach. "

Jeanie's hand came up and softly stroked his face. "I wish I could getit for you, " she said. 

"Bless you, sweetheart!" said Piers. "You don't so much as know what itis, do you?"

"Yes, I do, " said Jeanie. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking up into his face with all her child's soul shining in her eyes. "It's--Aunt Avery; isn't it?"

"How did you know?" said Piers. 

"I don't know, " said Jeanie. "It just--came to me--that day in theschoolroom when you talked about the ticket of leave. You were unhappythat day, weren't you?"

"Yes, " said Piers. He added after a moment, "You see, I'm not goodenough for her. "

"Not good enough!" Jeanie's face became incredulous and a littledistressed. "I'm sure--she--doesn't think that, " she said. 

"She doesn't know me properly, " said Piers. "Nor do you. If you did, you'd be shocked, --you'd be horrified. "

He spoke recklessly, almost defiantly; but Jeanie only stretched up athin arm and wound it about his neck. "Never!" she told him softly. "No, never!"

He held her to him; but he would not be silenced. "I assure you, I'm nosaint, " he said. "I feel more like a devil sometimes. I've done badthings, Jeanie, I can't tell you how bad. It would only hurt you. "

The words ran out impulsively. His breathing came quick and short; hishold was tense. In that moment the child's pure spirit recognized thatthe image had crumbled in her shrine, but the brave heart of her didnot flinch. Very tenderly she veiled the ruin. The element of worshiphad vanished in that single instant of revelation; but her loveremained, and it shone out to him like a beacon as he knelt there inabasement by her side. 

"But you're sorry, " she whispered. "You would undo the bad things ifyou could. "

"God knows I would!" he said. 

"Perhaps He will undo them for you, " she murmured softly. "Have youasked Him?"

"There are some things that can't be undone, " groaned Piers. "It would betoo big a job even for Him. "

"Nothing is that, " said Jeanie with conviction. "If we are sorry and ifwe pray, some day He will undo all the bad we've ever done. "

"I haven't prayed for six years, " said Piers. "Things went wrong with me. I felt as if I were under a curse. And I gave it up. "

"Oh, Piers!" she said, holding him closer. "How miserable you musthave been!"

"I've been in hell!" he said with bitter vehemence. "And the gates tightshut! Not that I was ever very great in the spiritual lines, " he addedmore calmly. "But I used to think God took a friendly interest in myaffairs till--till I went down into hell and the gates shut on me; andthen--" he spoke grimly--"I knew He didn't care a rap. "

"But, dear, He does care!" said Jeanie very earnestly. 

"He doesn't!" said Piers moodily. "He can't!"

"Piers, He does!" She raised her head and looked him straight in theeyes. "Everyone feels like that sometimes, " she said. "But Aunt Averysays it's only because we are too little to understand. Won't you beginand pray again? It does make a difference even though we can't see it. "

"I can't, " said Piers. And then with swift compunction he kissed herface of disappointment. "Never mind, my queen! Don't you bother yourlittle head about me! I shall rub along all right even if I don't comeout on top. "

"But I want you to be happy, " said Jeanie. "I wish I could help you, Piers, --dear Piers. "

"You do help me, " said Piers. 

There came the sound of voices on the stairs, and he got up. 

Jeanie looked up at him wistfully. "I shall try, " she said. "I shalltry--hard. "

He patted her head and turned away. 

Mr. Lorimer and Miss Whalley entered the room. The former raised hisbrows momentarily at the sight of Piers, but he greeted him with muchgeniality. 

"I am quite delighted to welcome you to the children's Christmas party, "he declared, with Piers' hand held impressively in his. "And how is yourgrandfather, my dear lad?"

Piers contracted instinctively. "He is quite well, thanks, " he said. "Ihaven't come to stay. I only looked in for a moment. "

He glanced towards Miss Whalley whom he had never met before. The Vicarsmilingly introduced him. "This is the Squire's grandson and heir, MissWhalley. Doubtless you know him by sight as well as by repute--thekeenest sportsman in the county, eh, my young friend?" His eyesdisappeared with the words as if pulled inwards by a string. 

"I don't know, " said Piers, becoming extremely blunt and British. "I'mcertainly keen, but so are dozens of others. " He bowed to Miss Whalleywith stiff courtesy. "Pleased to meet you, " he said formally. 

Miss Whalley acknowledged the compliment with a severe air ofincredulity. She had never approved of Piers since a certain Sundaymorning ten years before when she had caught him shooting at thechoir-boys with a catapult, during the litany, over the top of thesquire's large square pew. 

She had reported the crime to the Vicar, and the Vicar had lodged aformal complaint with Sir Beverley, who had soundly caned the delinquentin his presence, and given him half a sovereign as soon as the clericalback had been turned for taking the punishment like a man. 

But in Miss Whalley's eyes Piers had from that moment ceased to beregarded as one of the elect, and his curt reception of the good Vicar'spatronage did not further elevate him in her esteem. She made as brief aresponse to the introduction as politeness demanded, and crossed the roomto Jeanie. 

"I must be off, " said Piers. "I've stayed longer than I intendedalready. "

"Pray do not hurry!" urged Mr. Lorimer. "The festivities are but justbeginning. "

But Piers was insistent, and even Jeanie's wistful eyes could not detainhim. He waved her a careless farewell, and extricated himself as quicklyas possible from surroundings that had become uncongenial. 

Descending the stairs somewhat precipitately, he nearly ran into Averyascending with a troop of children, and stopped to say good-bye. 

"You're not going!" cried Gracie, with keen disappointment. 

"Yes, I am. I can't stop. It's later than I thought. See you to-morrow!"said Piers. 

He held Avery's hand again in his, and for one fleeting second his eyeslooked into hers. Then lightly he pressed her fingers and passed onwithout further words. 

On the first landing he encountered Mrs. Lorimer. She smiled upon himkindly. "Oh, Piers, is it you?" she said. "Have you been having tea inthe schoolroom?"

He admitted that he had. 

"And must you really go?" she said. "I'm sorry for that. Come again, won't you?"

Her tone was full of gentle friendliness, and Piers was touched. "It'sawfully good of you to ask me, " he said. 

"I like to see you here, " she answered simply. "And I am so grateful toyou for your kindness to my little Jeanie. "

"Oh, please don't!" said Piers. "I assure you it's quite the other wayround. I shall certainly come again since you are good enough to ask me. "

He smiled with boyish gallantry into the wistful, faded face, carried herfingers lightly to his lips, and passed on. 

"Such a nice boy!" Mrs. Lorimer murmured to herself as she went up tothe nursery. 

"Poor little soul!" was Piers' inward comment as he ran down to the hall. 

Here he paused, finding himself face to face with Lennox Tudor who wastaking off his coat preparatory to ascending. 

The doctor nodded to him without cordiality. Neither of them everpretended to take any pleasure in the other's society. 

"Are you just going?" he asked. "Your grandfather is wanting you. "

"Who says so?" said Piers aggressively. 

"I say so. " Curtly Tudor made answer, meeting Piers' quick frown with oneequally decided. 

Piers stood still in front of him. "Have you just come from the Abbey?"he demanded. 

"I have. " Tudor's tone was non-committal. He stood facing Piers, waiting to pass. 

"What are you always going there for?" burst forth Piers, with heat. "Hedoesn't want you--never follows your advice, and does excellently wellwithout it. "

"Really!" said Tudor. He uttered a short, sarcastic laugh, albeit histhick brows met closely above his glasses. "Well, you ought toknow--being such a devoted and attentive grandson. "

Piers' hands clenched at the words. He looked suddenly dangerous. "Whatin thunder do you mean?" he demanded. 

Tudor was nothing loth to enlighten him. He was plainly angry himself. "I mean, " he said, "if you must have it, that the time you spendphilandering here would be better employed in looking after the old man, who has spent a good deal over you and gets precious little interest outof the investment. "

"Confound you!" exclaimed Piers violently. "Who the devil are you to talkto me like this? Do you think I'm going to put up with it, what? If so, you're damned well mistaken. You leave me alone--and my grandfather too;do you hear? If you don't--" He broke off, breathing short and hard. 

But Tudor remained unimpressed. He looked at Piers as one mightlook at an animal raging behind bars. "Well?" he said. "Prayfinish! If I don't--"

Piers' face was very pale. His eyes blazed out of it, red andthreatening. "If you don't--I'll murder you!" he said. 

And at that he stopped short and suddenly wheeled round as he caught theswish of a dress on the stairs. He looked up into Avery's face as shecame swiftly down, and the blood rose in a deep, dark wave to hisforehead. He made no attempt to cover or excuse his passionate outburst, which it was perfectly obvious she must have heard. He merely made wayfor her, his hands still hard clenched, his eyes immovably upon her. 

Avery passed him with scarcely a glance, but her voice as she addressedLennox Tudor sounded a trifle austere. "I heard you speaking, " she said, "and ran down to fetch you upstairs. Will you come up at once, please?The ceremony is just beginning. "

Tudor held out a steady hand, "Very kind of you, Mrs. Denys, " he said. "Will you lead the way?" And then for a moment he turned from her toPiers. "If you have anything further to say to me, Evesham, I shall bequite ready to give you a hearing on a more suitable occasion. "

"I have nothing further to say, " said Piers, still with his eyesupon Avery. 

She would not look at him. With deliberate intention, she ignored hislook. "Come, doctor!" she said. 

They mounted the stairs together, Piers still standing motionless, stillmutely watching. There was no temper nor anger in his face. Simply hestood and waited. And, as if that silent gaze drew her, even against herwill, suddenly at the top she turned. Her own sweet smile flashed intoher face. She threw a friendly glance down to him. 

"Good-night, Mr. Evesham!" she called softly. "A happy Christmas to you!"

And as if that were what he had been waiting for, Piers bowed very low inanswer and at once turned away. 

His face as he went out into the night wore a very curious expression. Itwas not grim, nor ashamed, nor triumphant, and yet there was in it asuggestion of all three moods. 

He reached his car, standing as he had left it in the deserted lane, andstooped to start the engine. Then, as it throbbed in answer, hestraightened himself, and very suddenly he laughed. But it was not ahappy laugh; and in a moment more he shot away into the dark as thoughpursued by fiends. If he had gained his end, if he had in any fashionachieved his desire, it was plain that it did not give him any greatsatisfaction. He went like a fury through the night. 

CHAPTER XV

THE SCHEME

"Look here, boy!" Very suddenly, almost fiercely, Sir Beverley addressedhis grandson that evening as they sat together over dessert. "I've hadenough of this infernal English climate. I'm going away. "

Piers was peeling a walnut. He did not raise his eyes or make thefaintest sign of surprise. Steadily his fingers continued their task. Hislips hardened a little, that was all. 

"Do you hear?" rapped out Sir Beverley. 

Piers bent his head. "What about the hunting?" he said. 

"Damn the hunting!" growled Sir Beverley. 

Piers was silent a moment. Then: "I suggested it to you myself, didn'tI?" he said deliberately, "six weeks ago. And you wouldn't hear of it. "

"Confound your impertinence!" began Sir Beverley. But abruptly Piersraised his eyes, and he stopped. "What do you mean?" he said, in acalmer tone. 

Very steadily Piers met his look. "That's a question I should like toask, sir, " he said. "Why do you want to go abroad? Aren't you well?"

"I am perfectly well, " declared Sir Beverley, who furiously resented anyenquiry as to his health. "Can't a man take it into his head that he'dlike a change from this beastly damp hole of a country without being atdeath's door, I should like to know?"

"You generally have a reason for what you do, sir, " observed Piers. 

"Of course I have a reason, " flung back Sir Beverley. 

A faint smile touched the corners of Piers' mouth. "But I am not to knowwhat it is, what?" he asked. 

Sir Beverley glared at him. There were times when he was possessed by anuneasy suspicion that the boy was growing up into a manhood thatthreatened to overthrow his control. He had a feeling that Piers'submission to his authority had become a matter of choice rather than ofnecessity. He had inherited his Italian grandmother's fortune, moreover, --a sore point with Sir Beverley who would have repudiated everypenny had it been left at his disposal--and was therefore independent. 

"I've given you a reason. What more do you want?" he growled. 

Piers looked straight at him for a few seconds longer; then broke intohis sudden boyish laugh. "All right, sir. When shall we start?" he said. 

Sir Beverley stared. "What the devil are you laughing at?" he demanded. 

Piers had returned to the peeling of his walnut. "Nothing, sir, " hesaid airily. "At least, nothing more important than your reason forgoing abroad. "

"Damn your impudence!" said Sir Beverley, and then for some reason he toobegan to smile. "That's settled then. We'll go to Monte Carlo, eh, Piers?You'll like that. "

"Do you think I am to be trusted at Monte Carlo?" said Piers. 

"I let you go round the world by yourself while you were still an infant, so I almost think I can trust you at Monte Carlo under my own eye, "returned Sir Beverley. 

Piers was silent. The smile had left his lips. He frowned slightlyover his task. 

"Well?" said Sir Beverley, suddenly and sharply. 

"Well, sir?" Piers raised his brows without looking up. 

The old man brought down an impatient fist on the table. "Why can't yousay what you think?" he demanded angrily. "You sit there with your mouthshut as if--as if--" His eyes went suddenly to the woman's face on thewall with the red lips that smiled half-sadly, half-mockingly, and theeyes that perpetually followed him but never smiled at all. "Confoundyou, Piers!" he said. "I sometimes think that voyage round the world didyou more harm than good. "

"Why, sir?" said Piers quickly. 

Sir Beverley's look left the smiling, baffling face upon the wall andsought his grandson's. "You were so mad to be off the bearing-rein, weren't you?" he said. "So keen to feel your own feet? I thought it wouldmake a man of you, but I was a fool to do it. I'd better have kept you onthe rein after all. "

"I should have run away if you had, " said Piers. He poured himselfout a glass of wine and raised it to his lips. He looked at Sir Beverleyabove it with a smile half-sad, half-mocking, and eyes that veiled hissoul. "I should have gone to the devil if you had, sir, " he said, "and--probably--I shouldn't have come back. " He drank slowly, his eyesstill upon Sir Beverley's face. 

When he set the glass down again he was openly laughing. "Besides, youhorsewhipped me for something or other, do you remember? It hurts to behorsewhipped at nineteen. "

Sir Beverley growled at him inarticulately. 

"Yes, I know, " said Piers, "But it doesn't affect me so much now. I'mpast the sensitive age. " He ate his walnut, drained his glass, and rose. 

"You--puppy!" said Sir Beverley, looking up at him. 

Piers came to his side. He suddenly knelt down and pulled the old man'sarm round his shoulders. "I say, I'm going to enjoy that trip, " he saidboyishly. "Let's get away before the New Year!"

Sir Beverley suffered the action with no further protest than a frown. "You weren't so mighty anxious when I first suggested it, " he grumbled. 

Piers laughed. "Can't a man change his mind? I'm keen enough now. "

"What do you want to go for?" Sir Beverley looked at him suspiciously. 

But Piers' frank return of his look told him nothing. "I love the Southas you know, " he said. 

"Damn it, yes!" said Sir Beverley irritably. He could never endure anymention of the Southern blood in Piers. 

"And--" Piers' brown fingers grew suddenly tight upon the bony hand hehad drawn over his shoulder--"I like going away with you. "

"Oh, stow it, Piers!" growled Sir Beverley. 

"The truth, sir!" protested Piers, with eyes that suddenly danced. "Itdoes me good to be with you. It keeps me young. "

"Young!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. "You--infant!"

Piers broke into a laugh. He looked a mere boy when he gave himself up tomerriment. "And it'll do you good too, " he said, "to get away from thatbeastly doctor who is always hanging around. I long to give him the bootwhenever I see him. "

"You don't like each other, eh?" Sir Beverley's smile was sardonic. 

"We loathe and detest each other, " said Piers. All the boyishness wentout of his face with the words; he looked suddenly grim, and in thatmoment the likeness between them was very marked. "I presume this changeof air scheme was his suggestion, " he said abruptly. 

"And if it was?" said Sir Beverley. 

Piers threw back his head and laughed again through clenched teeth. "Forwhich piece of consideration he has my sincere gratitude, " he said. Hepressed his grandfather's hand again and rose. "So it's to be MonteCarlo, is it? Well, the sooner the better for me. I'll tell Victor tolook up the trains. We can't get away to-morrow or the next day. But weought to be able to manage the day after. "

He strolled across to the fire, and stood there with his back to theroom, whistling below his breath. 

Sir Beverley regarded him frowningly. There was no denying the fact, hedid not understand Piers. He had expected a strenuous opposition to hisscheme. He had been prepared to do battle with the boy. But Piers hadrefused the conflict. What was the fellow's game, he asked himself? Whythis prompt compliance with his wishes? He was not to be deceived intothe belief that he wanted to go. The attraction was too great for that. Unless indeed--he looked across at the bent black head in suddendoubt--was it possible that the boy had met with a check in the leastlikely direction of all? Could it be that the woman's plans did notinclude him after all?

No! No! That was out of the question. He knew women. A hard laugh rose tohis lips. If she had put a check upon Piers' advances it was not with theultimate purpose of stopping him. She knew what she was about too wellfor that, confound her!

He stared at Piers who had wheeled suddenly from the fire at the sound ofthe laugh. "Well?" he said irritably. "Well? What's the matter now?"

The eyes that countered his were hard, with just a hint of defiance. "Youlaughed, sir, " said Piers curtly. 

"Well, what of it?" threw back Sir Beverley. "You're deuced suspicious. Iwasn't laughing at you. "

"I know that, " said Piers. He spoke deliberately, as one choosing hiswords. His face was stern. "I don't want to know the joke if it'sprivate. But I should like to know how long you want to be away. "

"How long? How the devil can I tell?" growled Sir Beverley. "Till I'vehad enough of it, I suppose. "

"Does it depend on that only?" said Piers. 

Sir Beverley pushed back his chair with fierce impatience. "Oh, leave mealone, boy, do! I'll let you know when it's time to come home again. "

Piers came towards him. He halted with the light from the lamp full onhis resolute face. "If you are going to wait on Tudor's convenience, " hesaid, "you'll wait--longer than I shall. "

"What the devil do you mean?" thundered Sir Beverley. 

But again Piers turned aside from open conflict. He put a quiet handthrough his grandfather's arm. 

"Come along, sir! We'll smoke in the hall, " he said. "I think youunderstand me. If you don't--" he paused and smiled his sudden, winningsmile into the old man's wrathful eyes--"I'll explain more fully when thetime comes. "

"Confound you, Piers!" was Sir Beverley's only answer. 

Yet he left the room with the boy's arm linked in his. And the woman'sface on the wall smiled behind them--the smile of a witch, mysterious, derisive, aloof, yet touched with that same magic with which Piers hadlearned even in his infancy to charm away the evil spirit that lurked inhis grandfather's soul. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE WARNING

"Going away to-morrow, are you?" said Ina Rose, in her cool young voice. "I hope you'll enjoy it. "

"Thanks!" said Piers. "No doubt I shall. "

He spoke with his eyes on the dainty lace fan he had taken from her. 

Ina frankly studied his face. She had always found Piers Eveshaminteresting. 

"I should be wild if I were in your place, " she remarked, after a moment. 

He shrugged his shoulders, and his brown face slightly smiled. "Becauseof the hunting?" he said, and turned his eyes upon her fresh, girlishface. "But there's always next year, what?"

"Good gracious!" said Ina. "You talk as if you were older than yourgrandfather. It wouldn't comfort me in the least to think of nextseason's hunting. And I don't believe it does you either. You are onlyputting it on. "

"All right!" said Piers. His eyes dwelt upon her with a species ofmocking homage that yet in a fashion subtly flattered. He always knew howto please Ina Rose, though not always did he take the trouble. "Let ussay--for the sake of argument--that I am quite inconsolable. It doesn'tmatter to anyone, does it?"

"I don't know why you should say that, " said Ina. "It ought tomatter--anyhow to your grandfather. Why don't you make him go byhimself?"

Piers laughed a careless laugh, still boldly watching her. "That wouldn'tbe very dutiful of me, would it?" he said. 

"I suppose you're not afraid of him?" said Ina, who knew not the meaningof the word. 

"Why should you suppose that?" said Piers. 

She met his look in momentary surprise. "To judge by the way you behavedthe other day, I should say you were not. "

Piers frowned. "Which day?"

Ina explained without embarrassment. "The day that girl held up the wholeHunt in Holland's meadow. My word, Piers, how furious the old man was!Does he often behave like that?"

Piers still frowned. His fingers were working restlessly at the ivorysticks of her fan. "If you mean, does he often thrash me with ahorsewhip, no, he doesn't, " he said shortly. "And he wouldn't have doneit then if I'd had a hand to spare. I'm glad you enjoyed the spectacle. Hope you were all edified. "

"You needn't be waxy, " said Ina calmly. "I assure you, you never showedto greater advantage. I hope your lady friend was duly grateful to herdeliverer. I rather liked her pluck, Piers. Who is she?"

There was a sudden crack between Piers' fingers. He looked down hastily, and in a moment displayed three broken ivory fan-sticks to the girlbeside him. "I'm horribly sorry, Ina, " he said. 

Ina looked at the damage, and from it to his face of contrition. "You didit on purpose, " she said. 

"I did not, " said Piers. 

"You're very rude, " she rejoined. 

"No, I'm not, " he protested. "I'm sorry. I hope you didn't value it forany particular reason. I'll send you another from Paris. "

She spurned the broken thing with a careless gesture. "Not you! You'd beafraid to. "

Piers' brows went up. "Afraid?"

"Of your grandfather, " she said, with a derisive smile. "If he caught yousending anything to me--or to the lady of the meadow--" she pausedeloquently. 

Piers looked grim. "Of course I shall send you a fan if you'llaccept it. "

"How nice of you!" said Ina. "Wouldn't you like to send something forher in the same parcel? I'll deliver it for you--if you'll tell me thelady's address. "

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she made the suggestion. Piers frownedyet a moment longer, then laughed back with abrupt friendliness. 

"Thanks awfully! But I won't trouble you. It's decent of you not to beangry over this. I'll get you a ripping one to make up. "

Ina nodded. "That'll be quite amusing. Everyone will think that you'rereally in earnest at last. Poor Dick will be furious when he knows. "

"You'll probably console him pretty soon, " returned Piers. 

"Think so?" Ina's eyes narrowed a little; she looked at Piersspeculatively. "That's what you want to believe, is it?"

"I? Of course not!" Piers laughed again. "I never wished any girlengaged yet. "

"Save one, " suggested Ina, and an odd little gleam hovered behindher lashes with the words. "Why won't you tell me her name? Youmight as well. "

"Why?" said Piers. 

"I shall find it out in any case, " she assured him. "I know already thatshe dwells under the Vicar's virtuous roof, and that the worthy Dr. Tudorfinds it necessary to drop in every day. I suppose she is thenurse-cook-housekeeper of that establishment. "

"I say, how clever of you!" said Piers. 

The girl laughed carelessly. "Isn't it? I've studied her in church--andyou too, my cavalier. I don't believe you have ever attended so regularlybefore, have you? Did she ever tell you her age?"

"Never, " said Piers. 

"I wonder, " said Ina coolly. And then rather suddenly she rose. "Piers, if I'm a prying cat, you're a hard-mouthed mule! There! Why can't youadmit that you're in love with her?"

Piers faced her with no sign of surprise. "Why don't you tell me thatyou're in love with Guyes?" he said. 

"Because it wouldn't be true!" She flung back her answer with a laughthat sounded unaccountably bitter. "I have yet to meet the man who isworth the trouble. "

"Oh, really!" said Piers. "Don't flatter us more than you need! I'm sorryfor Guyes myself. If he weren't so keen on you, it's my belief you'd likehim better. "

"Oh no, I shouldn't!" Ina spoke with a touch of scorn. "I shouldn't likehim either less or more, whatever he did. I couldn't. But of course he'sextremely eligible, isn't he?"

"Does that count with you?" said Piers curiously. 

She looked at him. "It doesn't with you of course?" she said. 

"Not in the least, " he returned with emphasis. 

She laughed again, and pushed the remnants of her fan with her foot. "Itwouldn't. You're so charmingly young and romantic. Well, mind the doctordoesn't cut you out in your absence! He would be a much more suitable_parti_ for her, you know, both as to age and station. Shall we go backto the ball-room now? I am engaged to Dick for the next dance. I mustn'tcut him in his own house. "

It was an annual affair but quite informal--this Boxing Night dance atthe Guyes'. Dick himself called it a survival of his schoolboy days, andit was always referred to in the neighbourhood as "Dick's Christmasparty. " He and his mother would no more have dreamed of discontinuing thefestivity than of foregoing their Christmas dinner, and the Roses ofWardenhurst were invariably invited and as invariably attended it. Pierswas not so constant a guest. Dick had thrown him an open invitation onthe hunting-field a day or two before, and Piers, having nothing betterto do, had decided to present himself. 

He liked dancing, and was easily the best dancer among the men. He alsoliked Ina Rose, or at least she had always thought so, till that night. They were friends of the hunting-field rather than of the drawing-room, but they always drifted together wherever they met. Sir Beverley hadnever troubled himself about the intimacy. The girl belonged to thecounty, and if not quite the brilliant match for Piers that he would havechosen, she came at least of good old English stock. He knew and likedher father, and he would not have made any very strenuous opposition toan alliance between the two. The girl was well bred and heiress to theColonel's estate. She would have added considerably to Piers' importanceas a landowner, and she knew already how to hold up her head in society. Also, she led a wholesome, outdoor existence, and was not the sort ofgirl to play with a man's honour. 

No, on the whole Sir Beverley had no serious objection to the prospect ofa marriage between them, save that he had no desire to see Piers marriedfor another five years at feast. But Ina could very well afford to waitfive years for such a prize as Piers. Meanwhile, if they cared to getengaged--it would keep the boy out of mischief, and there would be noharm in it. 

So had run Sir Beverley's thoughts prior to the appearance of themother's help at the Vicarage. But she--the woman with the resolute mouthand grey, steadfast eyes--had upset all his calculations. It had notneeded Lennox Tudor's hint to put him on his guard. He had known whitherthe boy's wayward fancy was tending before that. The scene in thehunting-field had been sufficient revelation for him, and had lentstrength to his arm and fury to his indignation. 

Piers' decision to spend his last night in England at a dance had been asurprise to him, but then the boy had puzzled him a good many times oflate. He had even asked himself once or twice if it had been hisdeliberate intention to do so. But since it was absolutely certain thatthe schemer at the Vicarage would not be present at Dick Guyes' party, Sir Beverley did not see any urgent necessity for keeping his grandson athis side. He even hoped that Piers would enjoy himself though he deemedhim a fool to go. 

And, to judge from appearances, Piers was enjoying himself. Having partedfrom Ina, he claimed for his partner his hostess, --a pretty, gracefulwoman who danced under protest, but so exquisitely that he would hardlybe persuaded to give her up when the dance was over. 

He scarcely left the ball-room for the rest of the evening, and when theparty broke up he was among the last to leave. Dick ingenuously thankedhim for helping to make the affair a success. He was not feelingparticularly happy himself, since Ina had consistently snubbed himthroughout; but he did not hold Piers in any way responsible for herattitude. Dick's outlook on life was supremely simple. He never attemptedto comprehend the ways of women, being serenely content to regard them asbeyond his comprehension. He hoped and believed that one day Ina would bekind to him, but he was quite prepared to wait an indefinite time forthat day to dawn. He took all rebuffs with resignation, and couldgenerally muster a smile soon after. 

He smiled tranquilly upon Piers at parting and congratulated him upon theprospect of missing the worst of the winter. To which Piers threw back alaugh as he drove away in his little two-seater, coupled with thecareless assurance that he meant to make the most of his time, whateverthe weather. 

"Lucky dog!" said Guyes, as he watched him disappear down the drive. 

But if he had seen the expression that succeeded Piers' laugh, he mighthave suppressed the remark. For Piers' face, as he raced alone throughthe darkness, was the set, grim face of a man who carries a deadlypurpose in his soul. He had laughed and danced throughout the evening, but in his first moment of solitude the devil he had kept at bay hadentered into full possession. 

To the rush and throb of his engine, he heard over and over the gibing, malicious words of a girl's sore heart: "Mind the doctor doesn't cut youout in your absence!"

Obviously then this affair was the common talk of the neighbourhood sincenews of it had even penetrated to Wardenhurst. People were openlywatching the rivalry between Lennox Tudor and himself, watching andspeculating as to the result. And he, about to be ignominiously removedfrom the conflict by his grandfather, at Tudor's suggestion, had becomethe laughing-stock of the place. Piers' teeth nearly met in his lowerlip. Let them laugh! And let them chatter! He would give them ample foodfor amusement and gossip before he left. 

He had yielded to his grandfather's desire because instinct had told himthat his absence just at that stage of his wooing would be morebeneficial than his presence. He was shrewd enough to realize that thehot blood in him was driving him too fast, urging him to a pace whichmight irreparably damage his cause. For that reason alone, he was readyto curb his fierce impetuosity. But to leave a free field for LennoxTudor was not a part of his plan. He had scarcely begun to regard the manin the light of a serious rival, although fully aware of the fact thatTudor was doing his utmost to remove him from his path. But if Inathought him so, he had probably underestimated the danger. 

He had always detested Tudor very thoroughly. Piers never did anything byhalves, and the doctor's undisguised criticism of him never failed toarouse his fiercest resentment. That Tudor disliked him in return was afact that could scarcely escape the notice of the most careless observer. The two were plainly antipathetic, and were scarcely civil to one anothereven in public. 

But that night Piers' antagonism flared to a deadly hatred. Thesmouldering fire had leaped to a fierce blaze. Two nights before he hadsmothered it with the exultant conviction that Tudor's chances with Averywere practically non-existent. He had known with absolute certainty thathe was not the type of man to attract her. But to-night his mood hadchanged. Whether Tudor's chances had improved or not, he scarcely stoppedto question, but that other people regarded them as possibly greater thanhis own was a fact that sent the mad blood to his head. He tore backthrough the winter night like a man possessed, with Ina Rose's scoffingwarning beating a devil's tattoo in his brain. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE PLACE OF TORMENT

The surgery-bell pealed imperiously, and Tudor looked up from his book. It was his custom to read far into the night, for he was a poor sleeperand preferred a cosy fireside to his bed. But that night he was evenlater than usual. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, he saw thatit was a quarter to two. With a shrug of the shoulders expressive ratherof weariness than indifference, he rose to answer the bell. 

It pealed again before he reached the door, and the doctor frowned. Hewas never very tolerant of impatience. He unfastened the bolts withouthaste. The case might be urgent, but a steady hand and cool nerve wereusually even more essential than speed in his opinion. He opened the doortherefore with a certain deliberation, and faced the sharp night air withgrim resignation. "Well? Who is it? Come in!"

He expected to see some village messenger, and the sight of Piers, stern-faced, with the fur collar of his motor-coat turned up to his ears, was a complete surprise. 

"Hullo!" he said, staring at him. "Anything wrong?"

Piers stared back with eyes of burning hostility. "I want a word withyou, " he announced curtly. "Will you come out, or shall I come in?"

"You'd better come in, " said Tudor, suppressing a shiver, "unless I'mwanted up at the Abbey. "

"You're not, " said Piers. 

He stepped into the passage, and impetuously stripped off his heavycoat. Tudor shut the door, and turned round. He surveyed his visitor'sevening-dress with a touch of contempt. He himself was clad in anancient smoking-jacket, much frayed at the cuffs; and hiscarpet-slippers were so trodden down at the heel that he could only justmanage to shuffle along in them. 

"Go into the consulting-room!" he said. "There's a light there. "

Piers strode in, and waited for him. Seen by the light of the gas thatburned there, his face was pale and set in lines of iron determination. His eyes shone out of it like the eyes of an infuriated wild beast. 

"Do you know what I've come for?" he said, as Tudor shambled into theroom. 

Tudor looked him over briefly and comprehensively. "No, I don't, " hesaid. "I hoped I'd seen the last of you. "

His words were as brief as his look. It was obvious that he had nointention of wasting time in mere courtesy. 

Piers' lips tightened at his tone. He looked full and straight at thebaffling glasses that hid the other man's contemptuous eyes. 

"I've come for a reckoning with you, " he said. 

"Really?" said Tudor. He glanced again at the clock. "Rather an unusualhour, isn't it?"

Piers passed the question by. He was chafing on his feet like a cagedanimal. Abruptly he came to the point. 

"I told you the other day that I wouldn't put up with any interferencefrom you. I didn't know then how far your interference had gone. I doknow now. This scheme to get me out of the country was of yourcontrivance. "

Fiercely he flung the words. He was quivering with passionateindignation. But the effect on Tudor was scarcely perceptible. He onlylooked a little colder, a little more satirical, than was his wont. 

"Well?" he said. "What of it?"

Piers showed his teeth momentarily. His hands were hard gripped behindhim, as though he restrained himself by main force from open violence. 

"You don't deny it?" he said. 

"Why should I?" Tudor's thin lips displayed a faint sneer. "I certainlyadvised your grandfather to go away, and I think the advice was sound. "

"It was--from your point of view. " A tremor of fierce humour ran throughPiers' speech. "But plans--even clever ones--don't always turn out asthey should. This one for instance--what do you think you are going togain by it?"

"What do you mean?" Tudor stood by the table facing Piers, his attitudeone of supreme indifference. He seemed scarcely to feel the stormyatmosphere that pulsated almost visibly around the younger man. His eyesbehind their glasses were cold and shrewd, wholly emotionless. 

Piers paused an instant to grip his self-control the harder, for everyword he uttered seemed to make his hold the more precarious. 

"I'll tell you what I mean, " he said, his voice low and savagelydistinct. "I mean that what you've done--all this sneaking and schemingto get me out of your way--isn't going to serve your purpose. I mean thatyou shall swear to me here and now to give up the game during my absence, or take the consequences. It is entirely due to you that I am going, but--by Heaven--you shall reap no advantage from it!"

His voice rose a little, and the menace of it became more apparent. Hebent slightly towards the man he threatened. His eyes blazed red anddangerous. Tudor stood his ground, but it was impossible any longer toignore Piers' open fury. It was like the blast of a hurricane hurledfull against him. He made a slight gesture of remonstrance. 

"My good fellow, all this excitement is utterly uncalled for. The adviceI gave your grandfather would, I am convinced, have been given by anyother medical man in the country. If you are not satisfied with it, youhad better get him to have another opinion. As to taking advantage ofyour absence, I really don't know what you mean, and I think if you arewise you won't stop to explain. It's getting late and if you don't valueyour night's rest, I can't do without mine. Also, I think when themorning comes, you'll be ashamed of this foolery. "

He spoke with studied coldness. He knew the value of a firm front whenfacing odds. But he did not know the fiery soul of the man before him, or realize that contempt poured upon outraged pride is as spirit pouredupon flame. 

He saw the devil in Piers' eyes too late to change his tactics. Almost inthe same moment the last shred of Piers' self-control vanished like smokein a gale. He uttered a fearful oath and sprang upon Tudor like an animalfreed from a leash. 

The struggle that followed was furious if brief. Tudor's temper, oncethoroughly roused, was as fierce as any man's, and though his knowledgeof the science of fighting was wholly elementary, he made a desperateresistance. It lasted for possibly thirty seconds, and then he foundhimself flung violently backwards across the table and pinned there, withPiers' hands gripping his throat, and Piers' eyes, grim and murderous, glaring down into his own. 

"Be still!" ordered Piers, his voice no more than a whisper. "Or I'llkill you--by Heaven, I will!"

Tudor was utterly powerless in that relentless grip. His heart waspumping with great hammer-strokes; his breathing came laboured betweenthose merciless hands. His own hands were closed upon the iron wrists, but their hold was weakening moment by moment, he knew their grasp to bewholly ineffectual. He obeyed the order because he lacked the strength todo otherwise. 

Piers slowly slackened his grip. "Now, " he said, speaking between lipsthat scarcely seemed to move, "you will make me that promise. "

"What--promise?" Gaspingly Tudor uttered the question, yet something ofthe habitual sneer which he always kept for Piers distorted his mouth ashe spoke. He was not an easy man to beat, despite his physicallimitations. 

Sternly and implacably Piers answered him. "You will swear--by all youhold sacred--to take no advantage whatever of me while I am away. You hada special purpose in view when you planned to get me out of the way. Youwill swear to give up that purpose, till I come back. "

"I?" said Tudor. 

Just the one word flung upwards at his conqueror, but carrying with it adefiance so complete that even Piers was for the moment taken bysurprise! Then, the devil urging him, he tightened his grip again. "Either that, " he said, "or--"

He left the sentence unfinished. His hands completed the threat. He hadpassed the bounds of civilization, and his savagery whirled him like afiery torrent through the gaping jaws of hell. The maddening flames wereall around him, the shrieking of demons was in his ears, driving him onto destruction. He went, blinded by passion, goaded by the intolerablestabs of jealousy. In those moments he was conscious of nothing save awild delirium of anger against the man who, beaten, yet resisted him, yetthrew him his disdainful refusal to surrender even in the face ofoverwhelming defeat. 

But the brief respite had given Tudor a transient renewal of strength. Ere that terrible grip could wholly lock again, he made another franticeffort to free himself. Spasmodic as it was, and wholly unconsidered, yetit had the advantage of being unexpected. Piers shifted his hold, and inthat instant Tudor found and gripped the edge of the table. Sharply, withdesperate strength, he dragged himself sideways, and before his adversarycould prevent it he was over the edge. He fell heavily, dragging Pierswith him, struck his head with violence against the table-leg, andcrumpled with the blow like an empty sack. 

Piers found himself gripping a limp, inanimate object, and with a suddensense of overpowering horror he desisted. He stumbled up, staggeringslightly, and drew a long, hard breath. His heart was racing like arunaway engine. All the blood in his body seemed to be concentratedthere. Almost mechanically he waited for it to slow down. And, as hewaited, the madness of that wild rush through hell fell away from him. The demons that had driven him passed into distance. He was left standingin a place of desolation, utterly and terribly alone. 

 * * * * *

A trickle of cold water ran down Tudor's chin. He put up a hesitating, groping hand, and opened his eyes. 

He was lying in the arm-chair before the fire in which he had spent theevening. The light danced before him in blurred flashes. 

"Hullo!" he muttered thickly. "I've been asleep. "

He remained passive for a few moments, trying, not very successfully, tocollect his scattered senses. Then, with an effort that seemed curiouslylaboured, he slowly sat up. Instinctively, his eyes went to the clockabove him, but the hands of it seemed to be swinging round and round. Hestared at it bewildered. 

But when he tried to rise and investigate the mystery, the whole roombegan to spin, and he sank back with a feeling of intense sickness. 

It was then that he became aware of another presence. Someone came frombehind him and, stooping, held a tumbler to his lips. He looked upvaguely, and as in a dream he saw the face of Piers Evesham. 

But it was Piers as he had never before seen him, white-lipped, unnerved, shaking. The hand that held the glass trembled almost beyond control. 

"What's the matter?" questioned Tudor in hazy wonder. "Have you beenboozing, or have I?"

And then, his perceptions growing stronger, he took the glass from thequivering hand and slowly drank. 

The draught steadied him. He looked up with more assurance, and sawPiers, still with that deathly look on his face, leaning against themantelpiece for support. 

"What on earth's the matter?" said Tudor sharply. 

He felt for his glasses, found them dangling over his shoulder, and putthem on. One of them was cracked across, an illuminating fact whichaccounted for much. He looked keenly at Piers for several quiet seconds. 

At length with a shade of humour he spoke. "Here endeth the first lesson!You'd make a better show if you had a drink also. I'm sorry there's onlyone glass. You see, I wasn't expecting any friends to-night. "

Piers started a little and straightened himself; but his face remainedbloodless, and there was a curiously stunned look in his eyes. He did notattempt to utter a word. 

Tudor drained his glass, sat a moment or two longer, then got up. Therewere brandy and water on his writing-table. He poured out a stiff dose, and turned to Piers with authority. 

"Pull yourself together, Evesham! I should have thought you'd made abig enough fool of yourself for one night. Drink this! Don't spill itnow! And don't sit down on the fire, for I don't feel equal topulling you off!"

His manner was briskly professional, the manner he usually reserved forthe hysterical portion of his patients. He was still feeling decidedlyshaky himself, but Piers' collapse was an admirable restorative. He stoodby, vigilant and resolute, while the brandy did its work. 

Piers drank in silence, not looking at him. All the arrogance had goneout of him. He looked broken and unmanned. 

"Better?" asked Tudor at length. 

He nodded mutely, and set down the glass. 

Tudor surveyed him questioningly. "What happened to you?" he askedfinally. 

"Nothing!" Piers found his voice at last, it was low and shamed. "Nothingwhatever! You--you--my God!--I thought you were dead, that's all. "

"That all?" said Tudor. He put his hand up to his temple. There was afair-sized lump there already, and it was swelling rapidly. 

Piers nodded again. The deathly pallor had gone from his face, but hestill avoided Tudor's eyes. He spoke again, below his breath, as if moreto himself than to Tudor. 

"You looked so horribly like--like--a man I once--saw killed. "

"If you are wise, you will go home to bed, " said Tudor gruffly. 

Piers flashed a swift look at him. He stood hesitating. "You're notreally hurt?" he questioned, after a moment. 

"Thank you, " said Tudor drily, "I am not. "

He made no movement of reconciliation. Perhaps it was hardly to beexpected of him. Piers made none either. He turned away in silence. 

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. Two o'clock! Tudor lookedat it with a wry smile. It had been a lively quarter of an hour. 

The surgery-door banged upon Piers' departure. He heard his feet moveheavily to the gate, and the dull clang of the latter closing behind him. Then, after a protracted pause, there came the sound of his motor. 

As this throbbed away into distance Tudor smiled again grimly, ironically. "Yes, you young ruffian, " he said. "It's given your nerves anasty jolt, and serves you jolly well right! I never saw any fellow insuch a mortal funk before, and--from your somewhat rash remark--I gatherthat it's not the first lesson after all. I wonder when--and how--youkilled that other man. "

He was still speculating as he turned out the light and went to his room. 

CHAPTER XVIII

HORNS AND HOOFS

It was the Reverend Stephen Lorimer's custom to have all letters thatarrived by the morning post placed beside his breakfast plate to besorted by him at the end of family prayers, --a custom which Gracie freelycriticized in the sanctuary of the schoolroom, and which her mother inearlier days had gently and quite ineffectually tried to stop. It wasalways a somewhat lengthy proceeding as it entailed a careful scrutiny ofeach envelope, especially in the case of letters not addressed to theReverend Stephen. He was well acquainted with the handwriting of all hiswife's correspondents, and was generally ready with some shrewd guess asto their motives for writing. They were usually submitted to him forperusal as soon as she had read them herself, a habit formed by Mrs. Lorimer when she discovered that he looked upon her correspondence as hisown property and deeply resented any inclination on her part to keep itto herself. 

Avery's arrival had brought an additional interest to the morning budget. Her letters were invariably examined with bland curiosity and handed onto her with comments appropriate to their appearance. Occasionallyenvelopes with an Australian postmark reached her, and these alwaysexcited especial notice. The brief spell of Avery's married life had beenspent in a corner of New South Wales. In the early part of theiracquaintance, Mr. Lorimer had sought to draw her out on the subject ofher experiences during this period, but he had found her reticent. And sowhenever a letter came addressed in the strong, masculine hand of herAustralian correspondent, some urbane remark was invariably made, whilehis small daughter Gracie swelled with indignation at the furtherend of the table. 

"Two epistles for Mrs. Denys!" he announced, as he turned over themorning's mail at the breakfast-table two days after Christmas. "Ah, Ithought our Australian friend would be calling attention to himself erethe festive season had quite departed. He writes from Adelaide on thisoccasion. That indicates a move if I mistake not. His usual_pied-a-terre_ has been Brisbane hitherto, has it not?"

His little dark eyes interrogated Avery for a moment before they vanishedinwards with disconcerting completeness. 

Avery stiffened instinctively. She was well aware that Mr. Lorimer didnot like her, but the fact held no disturbing element. To her mind thedislike of the man was preferable to his favour and after all she saw butlittle of him. 

She went on therefore with her occupation of cutting bread and butter forthe children with no sign of annoyance save that slight, scarcelyperceptible stiffening of the neck which only Gracie saw. 

"I hope you are kind to your faithful correspondent, " smiled Mr. Lorimer, still holding the letter between his finger and thumb. "He evidentlyregards your friendship as a pearl of price, and doubtless he iswell-advised to do so. "

Here he opened his eyes again, and sent a barbed glance at Avery'sunresponsive face. 

"Friendship is a beautiful thing, is it not?" he said. 

"It is, " said Avery, deftly cutting her fifth slice. 

The Reverend Stephen proceeded with clerical fervour to embellish hissubject, for no especial reason save the pleasure of listening to his owneloquence--a pleasure which never palled. "It partakes of that divinequality of charity so sadly lacking in many of us, and sheds golden beamsof sunshine in the humblest earthly home. It has been aptly called thetrue earnest of eternity. "

"Really!" said Avery. 

"An exquisite thought, is it not?" said the Vicar. "Grace, my child, forthe one-and-twentieth time I must beg of you not to swing your legs whensitting at table. "

"I wasn't, " said Gracie. 

Her father's brows were elevated in surprise. His eyes as a consequencewere opened rather wider than usual, revealing an unmistakablymalignant gleam. 

"That is not the way in which a Christian child should receiveadmonition, " he said. "If you were not swinging your legs, you werefidgeting in a fashion which you very well know to be unmannerly. Do notlet me have to complain of your behaviour again!"

Gracie's cheeks were crimson, her violet eyes blazing with resentment;and Avery, dreading an outburst, laid a gentle restraining hand upon hershoulder for an instant. 

The action was well-meant, but its results were unfortunate. Gracieimpulsively seized and kissed the hand with enthusiasm. "All right, Averydear, " she said with pointed docility. 

Mr. Lorimer's brows rose a little higher, but being momentarily at a lossfor a suitable comment he contented himself with a return to Avery'scorrespondence. 

"The other letter, " he said, "bears the well-known crest of the Eveshamfamily. Ah, Mrs. Denys!" he shook his head at her. "Now, what doesthat portend?"

"What is the crest?" asked Avery, briskly cutting another slice. 

"The devil, " said Gracie. 

"My dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Lorimer, with a nervous glance towardsher husband. 

The Reverend Stephen was smiling, but in a fashion she did not quitelike. He addressed Avery. 

"The Evesham crest, Mrs. Denys, is a gentleman with horns and hoofs andunder him the one expressive word, _'Cave. '_ Excellent advice, is it not?I think we should do well to follow it. " He turned the envelope over, andstudied the address. "What a curious style of writing the young man has, unrestrained to a degree! This looks as if it had been written in adesperate mood. Mrs. Denys, Mrs. Denys, what have you been doing?"

He began to laugh, but stopped abruptly as Julian, who was seated nearhim, with a sudden, clumsy movement, upset a stream of cocoa across thebreakfast-table. This created an instant diversion. Mr. Lorimer turnedupon him vindictively, and soundly smacked his head, Mrs. Lorimer coveredher face and wept, and Avery, with Gracie close behind, hurried to remedythe disaster. 

Ranald came to help her in his quiet, gentlemanly way, dabbing up thethick brown stream with his table-napkin. Pat slipped round to hismother and hugged her hard. And Olive, the only unmoved member of theparty, looked on with contemptuous eyes the while she continued herbreakfast. Jeanie still breakfasted upstairs in the schoolroom, and somissed the _fracas_. 

"The place is a pig-sty!" declared Mr. Lorimer, roused out of allcomplacence and casting dainty phraseology to the winds. "And you, sir, "--he addressed his second son, --"wholly unfit for civilizedsociety. Go upstairs, and--if you have any appetite left after thisdisgusting exhibition--satisfy it in the nursery!"

Julian, crimson but wholly unashamed, flung up his head defiantly andwalked to the door. 

"Stop!" commanded Mr. Lorimer, ere he reached it. 

Julian stopped. 

His father looked him up and down with gradually returning composure. "You will not go to the nursery, " he said. "You will go to the study andthere suffer the penalty for insolence. "

"Stephen!" broke from Mrs. Lorimer in anguished protest. 

"A beastly shame!" cried Gracie vehemently, flinging discretion to thewinds; she adored her brother Julian. "He never spoke a single word!"

"Go, Julian!" said Mr. Lorimer. 

Julian went, banging the door vigorously behind him. 

Then, amid an awful silence, the Vicar turned his scrutiny upon hissmall daughter. 

Gracie stood up under it with all the courage at her disposal, but shewas white to the lips before that dreadful gaze passed from her to Avery. 

"Mrs. Denys, " said Mr. Lorimer, in tones of icy courtesy, "will youoblige me by taking that child upstairs, undressing her, and putting herto bed? She will remain there until I come. "

Avery, her task accomplished, turned and faced him. She was as white asGracie, but there was a steadfast light in her eyes that showed herwholly unafraid. 

"Mr. Lorimer, " she said, "with your permission I will deal withGracie. She has done wrong, I know. By-and-bye, she will be sorry andtell you so. "

Mr. Lorimer smiled sarcastically. "An apology, my dear Mrs. Denys, doesnot condone the offence. It is wholly against my principles to spare therod when it is so richly merited, and I shall not do so on this occasion. Will you kindly do as I have requested?"

It was final, and Avery knew it. Mrs. Lorimer knew it also, and burstinto hysterical crying. 

Avery turned swiftly. "Go upstairs, dear!" she said to Gracie, and Graciewent like an arrow. 

Mrs. Lorimer started to her feet. "Stephen! Stephen!" she criedimploringly. 

But her husband turned a deaf ear. With a contemptuous gesture he tossedAvery's letters upon the table and stalked from the room. 

Mrs. Lorimer uttered a wild cry of despair, and fell back fainting inher chair. 

For the next quarter of an hour Avery was fully occupied in restoringher, again assisted by Ronald. When she came to herself, it was only toshed anguished tears on Avery's shoulder and repeat over and over againthat she could not bear it, she could not bear it. 

Avery was of the same opinion, but she did not say so. She stroveinstead with the utmost tenderness to persuade her to drink some tea. But even when she had succeeded in this, Mrs. Lorimer continued to be soexhausted and upset that at last, growing uneasy, Avery despatchedRonald for the doctor. 

She sent Olive for the children's nurse and took counsel with her as togetting her mistress back to bed. But Nurse instantly discouraged thissuggestion. 

"For the Lord's sake, ma'am, don't take her upstairs!" she said. "Themaster's up there with Miss Gracie, and he's whipping the poor lambsomething cruel. He made me undress her first. "

"Oh, I cannot have that!" exclaimed Avery. "Stay here a minute, Nurse, while I go up!"

She rushed upstairs in furious anger to the room in which the threelittle girls slept. The door was locked, but the sounds within wereunmistakable. Gracie was plainly receiving severe punishment from herirate parent. Her agonized crying tore Avery's heart. 

She threw herself at the door and battered at it with her fists. "Mr. Lorimer!" she called. "Mr. Lorimer, let me in!"

There was no response. Possibly she was not even heard, for the dreadfulcrying continued and, mingled with it, the swish of the slender littleriding-switch which in the earlier, less harassed days of his marriedlife the Reverend Stephen had kept for the horse he rode, and which nowhe kept for his children. 

They were terrible moments for Avery that she spent outside that lockeddoor, listening impotently to a child's piteous cries for mercy from onewho knew it not. But they came to an end at last. Gracie's distress sankinto anguished sobs, and Avery knew that the punishment was over. Mr. Lorimer had satisfied both his sense of duty and his malice. 

She heard him speak in cold, cutting tones. "I have punished you moreseverely than I had ever expected to find necessary, and I hope that thelesson will be sufficient. But I warn you, Grace, most solemnly that Ishall watch your behaviour very closely for the future, and if I detectin you the smallest indication of the insolence and defiance for which Ihave inflicted this punishment upon you to-day I shall repeat thepunishment fourfold. No! Not another word!" as Gracie made someinarticulate utterance. "Or you will compel me to repeat it to-night!"

And with that, he walked quietly to the door and unlocked it. 

Avery had ceased to beat upon it; she met him white and stiff inthe doorway. 

"I have just sent for the doctor, " she said. "Mrs. Lorimer has beentaken ill. "

She passed him at once with the words, not looking at him, for she couldnot trust herself. Straight to Gracie, huddled on the floor in hernight-dress, she went, and lifted the child bodily to her bed. 

Gracie clung to her, sobbing passionately. Mr. Lorimer lingered inthe doorway. 

"Will you go, please?" said Avery, tight-lipped and rigid, the childclasped to her throbbing heart. 

It was a definite command, spoken in a tone that almost compelledcompliance, and Mr. Lorimer lingered no more. 

Then for one long minute Avery sat and rocked the poor little torturedbody in her arms. 

At length, through Gracie's sobs, she spoke. "Gracie darling, I'm goingto ask you to do something big for me. "

"Yes?" sobbed Gracie, clinging tightly round her neck. 

"Leave off crying!" Avery said. "Please leave off crying, darling, and beyour own brave self!"

"I can't, " cried Gracie. 

"But do try, darling!" Avery urged her softly. "Because, you see, I can'tleave you like this, and your poor little mother wants me so badly. Sheis ill, Gracie, and I ought to go to her, but I can't while you arecrying so. "

Thus adjured, Gracie made gallant efforts to check herself. But herspirit was temporarily quite broken. She stood passively with the tearsrunning down her face while Avery hastily dressed her again and set herrumpled hair to rights. Then again for a few seconds they held each othervery tightly. 

"Bless you, my own brave darling!" Avery whispered. 

To which Gracie made tearful reply: "Whatever should we do without you, dear--dear Avery?"

"And you won't cry any more?" pleaded Avery, who was nearer to tearsherself than she dared have owned. 

"No, " said Gracie valiantly. 

She began to dry her eyes with vigour--a hopeful sign; and after pressingupon Avery another damp kiss was even able to muster a smile. 

"Now you can do something to help me, " said Avery. "Give yourself fiveminutes--here's my watch to go by!" She slipped it off her own wrist andon to Gracie's. "Then run up to the nursery and see after the childrenwhile Nurse is downstairs! And drink a cup of milk, dearie! Mind you do, for you've had nothing yet. "

"I shall love to wear your watch, " murmured Gracie, beginning to becomforted. 

"I know you'll take care of it, " Avery said, with a loving hand on thechild's hair. "Now you'll be all right, will you? I can leave you withoutworrying?"

Grade gave her face a final polish, and nodded. Spent and sore though shewas, her spirit was beginning to revive. "Is Mother really ill?" sheasked, as Avery turned to go. 

"I don't know, dear. I'm rather anxious about her, " said Avery. 

"It's all Father's fault, " said Gracie. 

Avery was silent. She could not contradict the statement. 

As she reached the door, Gracie spoke again, but more to herself than toAvery. "I hope--when he dies--he'll go to hell and stay there for everand ever and ever!"

"Oh, Gracie!" Avery stopped, genuinely shocked. "How wrong!" she said. 

Gracie nodded several times. "Yes, I know it's wrong, but I don't care. And I hope he'll die to-morrow. "

"Hush! Hush!" Avery said. 

Whereat Gracie broke into a propitiatory smile. "The things I wish fornever happen, " she said. 

And Avery departed, wondering if this statement deserved to be treated inthe light of an amendment. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE DAY OF TROUBLE

Lennox Tudor spent hours at the Vicarage that day in close attendanceupon Mrs. Lorimer in company with Avery who scarcely left her side. Terrible hours they were, during which they battled strenuously to keepthe poor, quivering life in her weary body. 

"There is no reason why she shouldn't pull round, " Tudor assured Avery. 

But yet throughout the day she hovered on the verge of collapse. 

By night the worst danger was over, but intense weakness remained. Shelay white and still, taking notice of nothing. Only once, when Avery wasgiving her nourishment, did she rouse herself to speak. 

"Beg my husband not to be vexed with me!" she whispered. "Tell him therewon't be another little one after all! He'll be glad to know that. "

And Avery, cut to the heart, promised to deliver the message. 

A little later she stole away, leaving the children's nurse in charge, and slipped up to the schoolroom for some tea. Tudor had gone to seeanother patient, but had promised to return as soon as possible. 

The children were all gathered round the table at which Olive verycapably presided. Gracie, looking wan and subdued, sat on the end ofJeanie's sofa; but she sprang to meet Avery the moment she appeared. 

Avery sat down, holding the child's hand in hers. She glanced round thetable as she did so. 

"Where is Julian?"

"Upstairs, " said Ronald briefly. "In disgrace. "

Avery felt her heart contract with a sick sense of further trouble in theair. "Has he been there all day?" she asked. Ronald nodded. "And anotherflogging to-night if he doesn't apologize. He says he'll die first. "

"So would I, " breathed Gracie. 

At this juncture the door swung open with stately precision, and Mr. Lorimer entered. Everyone rose, according to established custom, with theexceptions of Avery and Jeanie. Gracie's fingers tightened convulsivelyupon Avery's hand, and she turned as white as the table-cloth. 

Mr. Lorimer, however, looked over her head as if she did not exist, andaddressed Avery. 

"Mrs. Denys, be so good as to spare me two minutes in the study!" he saidwith extreme formality. 

"Certainly, " Avery made quiet reply. "I will come to you before I go backto Mrs. Lorimer. "

He raised his brows slightly, as if he had expected a more promptcompliance with his request. And then his eyes fell upon Gracie, clingingfast to Avery's hand. 

"Grace, " he said, in his clear, definite tones, "come here!"

The child gave a great start and shrank against Avery's shoulder. "Ohno!" she whispered. "No!"

"Come here!" repeated Mr. Lorimer. 

He extended his hand, but Gracie only shrank further away. She wastrembling violently, so violently that Avery felt impelled to pass asustaining arm around her. 

"Come, my child!" said the Vicar, the majestic composure of his featuresgradually yielding to a look of dawning severity. 

"Go, dear!" whispered Avery. 

"I don't want to, " gasped Gracie. 

"I shall not punish you, " her father said, "unless I find you disobedientor still unrepentant. "

"Darling, go!" Avery urged softly into her ear. "It'll be all right now. "

But Gracie, shaking from head to foot and scarcely able to stand, onlyclung to her the faster, and in a moment she began agitatedly to cry. 

Mr. Lorimer's hand fell to his side. "Still unrepentant, I fear, " hesaid. 

Avery, with the child gathered closely to her, looked across at him withwide, accusing eyes. 

"She is frightened and upset, " she said. "It is not fair to judge her inthis condition. "

Mr. Lorimer's eyes gleamed back malignantly. He made her an icy bow. "Inthat case, Mrs. Denys, " he said, "she had better go to bed and stay thereuntil her condition has improved. "

Avery compressed her lips tightly, and made no rejoinder. 

The Reverend Stephen compressed his, and after a definite pause of mostunpleasant tension, he uttered a deep sigh and withdrew. 

"I know he means to do it again!" sobbed Grade. "I know he does!"

"He shall not!" said Avery. 

And with the words she put the child from her, rose, and with greatdetermination walked out of the room. 

Mr. Lorimer had scarcely settled himself in what he called his "chair ofease" in the study when her low knock reached him, and she entered. Hergrey eyes were no longer angry, but very resolute. She closed the doorsoftly, and came straight to the fire. 

"Mr. Lorimer, " she said, her voice pitched very low, "I want you to bepatient with me just for a minute. Will you?"

Mr. Lorimer sighed again. "I am yearning for the refreshment of a littlesolitary meditation, Mrs. Denys, " he said. 

"I shall not keep you, " Avery rejoined steadily. She stood before him, very pale but wholly composed. "What I have to say can be said in a veryfew seconds. First, with regard to Gracie; the child is so upset that Ithink any further punishment would make her downright ill. "

"Pooh, my dear Mrs. Denys!" said the Reverend Stephen. 

Avery paused a moment. "Will you try to listen to me with an openmind?" she said. 

"I am listening, " said Mr. Lorimer. 

"I know she was naughty this morning, " Avery continued. "I am not tryingto defend her behaviour. But her punishment was a very severe one, and ithas so terrified her that at present she can think of nothing else. Giveher time to be sorry! Please give her time!"

Mr. Lorimer glanced at the clock. "She has already had nine hours, " heobserved. "I shall give her three more. "

"And then?" said Avery. 

His eyes travelled up to her troubled face. "And if by then, " he saiddeliberately, "she has not come to me to express her penitence, I shallbe reluctantly compelled to repeat the punishment. "

"You will drive the child out of her senses if you do!" Avery exclaimed. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "My dear Mrs. Denys, permit me to remind youthat I have had considerable experience in the upbringing of children. "

"And they are all afraid of you, " Avery said. 

He smiled. "In my opinion a little wholesome awe is salutary. No, Mrs. Denys, I cannot listen any further to your persuasion. In fact I fearthat in Grace's case I have so far erred on the side of laxness. She hasbecome very wild and uncontrolled, and--she must be tamed. "

He closed his lips upon the word, and despair entered Avery's heart. Shegripped her self-control with all her might, realizing that the momentshe lost it, her strength would be gone. 

With a great effort she turned from the subject. "I have a message foryou from Mrs. Lorimer, " she said, after a moment, and proceeded todeliver it in a low, steady voice, her eyes upon the fire. 

The man in the chair heard it without the movement of a muscle of hisface. "I will endeavour to look in upon her presently, " was all thereply he made. 

Avery turned to go, but he stopped her with a gesture. 

"Mrs. Denys, " he said smoothly, "you forget, I think, that I also hadsomething to say. "

Avery paused. She had forgotten. 

He turned his eyes deliberately up to hers, as he leaned back in hischair. "I am sorry to have to tell you, " he said, "that in consequence ofyour unfortunate zeal in encouraging the children in insubordination, Ican no longer look upon you as in any sense a help in my household. Itherefore desire that you will take a month's notice from now. If I canfill your place sooner, I shall dispense with your services earlier. "

Calmly, dispassionately, he uttered the words. Avery stood quite still tohear them. And through her like a stab there ran the thought of the poorlittle woman upstairs. The pain of it was almost unbearable. She caughther breath involuntarily. 

But the next moment she was herself again. She bowed without a word, andturned to go. 

She had nearly reached the door ere she discovered that it stood open, and that Lennox Tudor was on the threshold, more grimly strong than shehad ever before realized him to be. 

He stood back for her to pass, holding the door for her without speaking. And in silence Avery departed. 

CHAPTER XX

THE STRAIGHT TRUTH

"Ah, my worthy physician, enter, enter!" was Mr. Lorimer's blandgreeting. "What news of the patient?"

Tudor tramped up to the hearth, looking very square and resolute. "I'vecome from the schoolroom, " he said, "where I went to take a look atJeanie. But I found Gracie required more of my attention than she did. Are you absolutely mad, I wonder, to inflict corporal punishment upon ahighly-strung child like that? Let me tell you this! You'll turn her intoa senseless idiot if you persist! The child is nearly crazed with terroras it is. I've told them to put her to bed, and I'm going up to give hera soothing draught directly. "

Mr. Lorimer rose with dignity. "You somewhat magnify your office, doctor, " he said. 

"No, I don't!" said Tudor rudely. "I do what I must. And I warn you thatchild is wrought up to a highly dangerous pitch of excitement. You don'twant her to have brain-fever, I suppose?"

"Pooh!" said Mr. Lorimer. 

Tudor stamped a furious foot, and let himself go. He had no scruplesabout losing his temper at that moment. He poured forth his indignationin a perfect tornado of righteous anger. 

"That's all you have to say, is it? You--a man of God, so-called--killingyour wife by inches and not caring a damn what suffering you cause! Itell you, she has been at death's door all day, thanks to your infernalbehaviour. She may die yet, and you will be directly responsible. You'vecrushed her systematically, body and soul. As to the children, if youtouch that little girl again--or any of 'em--I'll haul you before theBench for cruelty. Do you hear that?"

Mr. Lorimer, who had been waving a protesting hand throughout thisvigorous denunciation, here interposed a lofty: "Sir! Youforget yourself!"

"Not I!" flung back Tudor. "I know very well what I'm about. I spoke toyou once before about your wife, and you wouldn't listen. But--byHeaven--you shall listen this time, and hear the straight truth for once. Her life has been a perpetual martyrdom for years. You've tortured herthrough the children as cruelly as any victim was ever tortured on therack. But it's got to stop now. I don't deal in empty threats. What I'vesaid I shall stick to. You may be the Vicar of the parish, but you'reunder the same law as the poorest of 'em. And if anything more of thiskind happens, you shall feel the law. And a pretty scandal it'll make. "

He paused a moment, but Mr. Lorimer stood in frozen silence; and almostimmediately he plunged on. 

"Now as regards Mrs. Denys; I heard you give her notice just now. Thatmust be taken back--if she will consent to stay. For Mrs. Lorimerliterally can't do without her yet. Mrs. Lorimer will be an invalid forsome time to come, if not for good and all. And who is going to takecharge of the house if you kick out the only capable person it contains?Who is going to look after your precious comfort, not to mention that ofyour wife and children? I tell you Mrs. Denys is absolutely indispensableto you all for the present. If you part with her, you part with everyshred of ease and domestic peace you have. And you will have to keep aproperly qualified nurse to look after your wife. And it isn't everynurse that is a blessing in the home, I can assure you. "

He stopped again; and finding Mr. Lorimer still somewhat dazed by thissudden attack, he turned and began to pace the room to give him timeto recover. 

There followed a prolonged silence. Then at last, with a deep sigh, theVicar dropped down again in his chair. 

"My good, doctor, " he said, "I am convinced that your motives are goodthough your language be somewhat lacking in restraint. I am sorelyperplexed; let me admit it! Mrs. Denys is, I believe, a thoroughlyefficient housekeeper, but--" he paused impressively--"her presence is adisturbing element with which I would gladly dispense. She is continuallyinventing some pretext for presenting herself at the study-door. Moreover, she is extremely injudicious with the children, and I am boundto think of their spiritual welfare before their mere bodily needs. "

He was evidently anxious to avoid an open rupture, so perhaps it was aswell that he did not see the look on Tudor's face as he listened tothis harangue. 

"Why don't you pack them off to school?" said Tudor, sticking to thepoint with commendable resolution. "Peace in the house is absolutelyessential to Mrs. Lorimer. All the elder ones would be better out ofit--with the exception of Jeanie. "

"And why with the exception of Jeanie, may I ask?" There was a touch ofasperity in Mr. Lorimer's voice. He had been badly browbeaten, and--forsome reason--he had had to submit. But he was in no docile moodthereafter. 

Tudor heard the note of resentment in his tone, and came back to thehearth. "I have been awaiting a suitable opportunity to talk to you aboutJeanie, " he said. 

"What next? What next?" said Mr. Lorimer fretfully. 

Tudor proceeded to tell him, his tone deliberately unsympathetic. "Sheneeds most careful treatment, most vigilant watching. There is a weaknessof the lungs which might develop at any time. Mrs. Denys understands herand can take care of her. But she is in no state to be entrusted tostrangers. "

"Why was this not mentioned to me before?" said Mr. Lorimer querulously. "Though the head of the house, I am always the last to be told ofanything of importance. I suppose you are sure of what you say?"

"Quite sure, " said Tudor, "though I should be absolutely willing for youto have another opinion at any time. As to not telling you, I have alwaysfound it difficult to get you to listen, and, as a rule, I have no timeto waste on persuasion. " He looked at the clock. "I ought to be goingnow. You will consider what I have said about sending the other childrenaway to school? You'll find it's the only thing to do. "

Mr. Lorimer sighed again with deep melancholy. 

Tudor squared his shoulders aggressively. "And with your permission I'lltell Mrs. Denys that you have reconsidered the matter and hope she willremain for a time at least, if she can see her way to do so. "

He paused very definitely for a reply to this. Mr. Lorimer's mouth wasdrawn down at the corners, but he looked into the fire with the aloofnessof a mind not occupied with mundane things. 

Tudor faced him and waited with grim resolution; but several secondspassed ere his attitude seemed to become apparent to the abstractedVicar. Then with extreme deliberation his eyelids were raised. 

"Excuse me, doctor! My thoughts were for the moment elsewhere. Yes, youhave my permission to tell her that. And--I agree with you. It seemsadvisable to remove the elder children from her influence without delay. I shall therefore take steps to do so. "

Tudor nodded with a shrug of the shoulders. It did not matter to him inwhat garb his advice was dressed, so long as it was followed. 

"Very well, " he said. "I am now going to settle Gracie, and I shall tellher you have issued a free pardon all round, and no more will be said toanyone. I was told one of the boys was in hot water too, but you can lethim off for once. You're much more likely to make him ashamed of himselfthat way. "

Mr. Lorimer resumed his contemplation of the fire without speaking. 

Tudor turned to go. He was fairly satisfied that he had established peacefor the time being, and he was not ill-pleased with his success. 

He told himself as he departed that he had discovered how to deal withthe Reverend Stephen. It had never occurred to him to attempt suchtreatment before. 

To Avery later he gave but few details of the interview, but she couldnot fail to see his grim elation and smiled at it. 

"I am to stay then, am I?" she said. 

"If you will graciously consent to do so, " said Tudor, with hisbrief smile. 

"I couldn't do anything else, " she said. 

"I'm glad of that, " he said abruptly, "for my own sake. "

And with that very suddenly he turned the subject. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE ENCHANTED LAND

At ten o'clock that night, Avery went round to bid each child good-night. She found Gracie sleeping peacefully with her bed pushed close toJeanie's. The latter was awake and whispered a greeting. On the otherside of the room Olive slept the sleep of the just. Avery did not pauseby her bed, but went straight to Jeanie, who held her hand for a littleand then gently begged her to go to bed herself. 

"You must be so tired, " she said. 

Avery could not deny the fact. But she had arranged to sleep in Mrs. Lorimer's room, so she could not look forward to a night without care. She did not tell Jeanie this, however, but presently kissed her tenderlyand stole away. 

She visited the younger boys, and found them all asleep; then slipped upto the attic in which the elder lads slept. 

She heard their voices as she reached the closed door. She knocked softlytherefore, and in a moment heard one of them leap to open it. 

It was Ronald, clad in pyjamas but unfailingly courteous, who invitedher to enter. 

"I knew it must be you, Mrs. Denys. Come in! Very pleased to see you. Wait a second while I light a candle!"

He did so, and revealed Julian sitting up in bed with sullen defiancewrit large upon his face. But he smiled at sight of her, and patted theside of his bed invitingly. 

"Don't sit on the chair! It's untrustworthy. It's awfully decent of youto look us up like this, --that is, if you haven't come to preach. "

"I haven't, " said Avery, accepting the invitation since she felt tooweary to stand. 

Julian nodded approval. "That's right. I knew you were too much of abrick. I'm awaiting my next swishing for upsetting my cup at breakfast inyour defence, so I hardly think I deserve any pi-jaw from you, do I?"

"Oh, I'm not at all pi, I assure you, " Avery said. "And if it was donefor my sake, I'm quite grateful, though I wish you hadn't. "

Julian grinned at her, and she proceeded. 

"I don't think you need wait any longer for the swishing. Your father hasdecided, I understand, not to carry the matter any further. "

Julian opened his eyes wide. "What? You've been at him, have you?"

Avery smiled even while she sighed. 

"Oh, I'm no good, Julian. I only make things worse when I interfere. No, it's not due to me. But, all the same, I hope and believe the trouble hasblown over for the present. Do--do try and keep the peace in the future!"

Her weariness sounded in her voice; it quivered in spite of her. 

Julian placed a quick, clammy hand on hers and squeezed itaffectionately. 

"Anything to oblige!" he promised generously. "Here Ron! Shy over thoseletters! She wants something to cheer her up. "

"Letters!" Avery looked round sharply. "I had forgotten myletters!" she said. 

"Here they are!" Ronald came forward and placed them in her hand. "Ipicked 'em up this morning, and then when you sent me off for the doc, Iforgot all about 'em. I'm sorry. I only came across them when I wasundressing, and you were busy in the mater's room, so I thought I'd keepthem safe till to-morrow. I hope they are not important, " he added. 

"I don't suppose so, " said Avery; yet her heart jerked oddly as sheslipped them into her dress. "Thank you for taking care of them. I mustbe going now. You are going to be good?"

She looked at Julian, who, still feeling generous, thrust a rough, boyisharm about her neck and kissed her. 

"You're a trump!" he said. "There! Good-night! I'll be as meek as Mosesin the morning. "

It was a definite promise, and Avery felt relieved. She took leave ofRonald more ceremoniously. His scrupulous politeness demanded it. Andthen with feet that felt strangely light, considering her fatigue, sheran softly down again to Mrs. Lorimer's room. 

In the dressing-room adjoining, she opened and read her letters. One ofthem--the one with the Australian stamp, characteristically brief butkind--was to tell her that the writer, a friend of some standing, wascoming to England, and hoped to see her again ere long. 

The other, bearing the sinister Evesham crest, lay on the table unopenedtill she was undressed and ready to join Mrs. Lorimer. Then--for thefirst time in all that weary day of turmoil--Avery stole a few momentsof luxury. 

She sat down and opened Piers' letter. 

It began impetuously, without preliminary. "I wonder whether you have anyidea what it costs to clear out without a word of farewell. Perhaps youare even thinking that I've forgotten. Or perhaps it matters so little toyou that you haven't thought at all. I know you won't tell me, so it'snot much good speculating. But lest you should misunderstand in any way, I want to explain that I haven't been fit to come near you since weparted on Christmas Eve. You were angry with me then, weren't you? Averyin a temper! Do you remember how it went? At least you meant to be, butsomehow you didn't get up the steam. You wished me a happy Christmasinstead, and I ought to have had one in consequence. But I didn't. Iplayed the giddy goat off and on all day long, and my grandfather--dearold chap--thought what a merry infant I was. But--you've heard of theworm that dieth not and the fire that is not quenched? The ReverendStephen has taken care of that. Do you remember his 'penny-terrible' of aSunday or two ago? You were very angry about it, Avery. I love you whenyou're angry. And how he dilated on the gates of brass and the bars ofiron and the outer darkness etc, etc, till we all went home and shiveredin our beds! Well, that's the sort of place I spent my Christmas in, andI wanted to come to you and Jeanie and be made happy, but--I couldn't. Iwas too fast in prison. I felt too murderous. I hunted all the next dayto try and get more wholesome. But it was no good. I was seeing red allthe time. And at night something happened that touched me off like anexploded train of gunpowder. Has Tudor told you about it yet? Doubtlesshe will. I tried to murder him, and succeeded in cracking his eye-glass. Banal, wasn't it? And I have an uneasy feeling that he came out top-dogafter all, confound him!

"Avery, whomever else you have no use for, I know you're not in love withhim, and in my saner moments I realize that you never could be. But Iwasn't sane just then. I love you so! I love you so! It's good to be ableto get it right out before you have time to stop me. For I worship you, Avery, my darling! You don't realize it. How should you? You think it isjust the passing fancy of a boy. A boy--ye gods!

"I think of you hour by hour. You are always close in your own secretplace in my heart. I hold you in my arms when no one else is near. Ikiss your forehead, your eyes, your hair. No, not your lips, dear, evenin fancy. I have never in my maddest dreams kissed your lips. But I acheand crave and long for them, though--till you give me leave--I dare noteven pretend that they are mine. Will you ever give me leave? You say Nonow. Yet I think you will, Avery. I think you will. I have known eversince that first moment when you held me back from flaying poor oldCaesar that I have met my Fate, and because I know it I'm trying--foryour sweet sake--to make myself a better man. It's beastly uphill work, and that episode with Tudor has pulled me back. Confound him! By the waythough, it's done me good in one sense, for I find I don't detest himquite so hideously as I did. The man has his points. 

"And now Avery, --dear Avery, will you forgive me for writing all this? Iknow you won't write to me, but I send my address in case! And I shallwatch every mail day after day, night after night, for the letter thatwill never come. 

"Pathetic picture, isn't it? Good-bye!

"PIERS. 

"My love to the Queen of all good fairies, and tell Pixie that I hope thegloves fitted. "

Avery's lips parted in a smile; a soft flush overspread her face. Thatcostly gift from the children--she had guessed from the beginningwhence it came. 

And then slowly, even with reverence, she folded the letter up, and rose. Her smile became a little tremulous. It had been a day of many troubles, and she was very tired. The boy's adoration was strangely sweet to herwearied senses. She felt subtly softened and tender towards him. 

No, it must not be! It could not be! He must forget her. She would writeto-morrow and tell him so. Yet for that one night the charm held her. She viewed from afar an enchanted land--a land of sunshine and singingbirds--a land where it was always spring. It was a country she had seenbefore, but only in her dreams. Her feet had never wandered there. Thepath she had followed had not led to it. Perhaps it was all a mirage. Perhaps there was no path. 

Yet in her dreams she crossed the boundary, and entered theforbidden land. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE COMING OF A FRIEND

"Eternal sunshine!" said Piers, with a grimace at the deep, deep blueof the slumbering water that stretched below him to the horizon. "Andat night eternal moonshine. Romantic but monotonous. I wonder if thepost is in. "

He cast an irresolute glance up the path behind him, but decided toremain where he was. He had looked so many times in vain. 

There were a good many people in the hotel, but he was not feelingsociable. The night before he had dropped a considerable sum at theCasino, but it had not greatly interested him. Regretfully he had come tothe conclusion that gambling in that form did not attract him. The greedycrowd that pushed and strove in the heated rooms, he regarded asdownright revolting. He himself had been robbed with astonishing audacityby a lady with painted eyes who had snatched his only winnings before hecould reach them. It was a small episode, and he had let it pass, but ithad not rendered the tables more attractive. He had in fact left them inutter disgust. 

Altogether he was feeling decidedly out of tune with his surroundingsthat morning, and the beauty of the scene irritated rather than soothedhim. In the garden a short distance from him, a voluble French party werechattering with great animation and a good deal of cackling laughter. Hewondered what on earth they found to amuse them so persistently. He alsowondered if a swim in that faultless blue would do anything to improvehis temper, and decided with another wry grimace that it was hardly worthwhile to try. 

It was at this point that there fell a step on the winding path below himthat led down amongst shrubs to the sea. The top of a Panama hat caughtPiers' attention. He watched it idly as it ascended, speculating withoutmuch interest as to the face beneath it. It mounted with the utmoststeadiness, neither hastening nor lingering. There was something aboutits unvarying progress that struck Piers as British. His interestincreased at once. He suddenly discovered that he wanted someone Britishto talk to, forgetting the fact that he had fled but ten minutes beforefrom the boring society of an Anglo-Indian colonel. 

The man in the Panama came nearer. Piers from above began to have aglimpse of a tweed coat and a strong brown hand that swung in time to thesteady stride. The path curved immediately below him, and the last fewyards of it led directly to the spot on which he stood. As the strangerrounded the curve he came into full view. 

He was a big man, broadly built and powerful. His whole personality wassuggestive of squareness. And yet to Piers' critical eyes he did not lookwholly British. His gait was that of a man accustomed to long hours inthe saddle. Under the turned-down Panama the square, determined chinshowed massively. It was a chin that obviously required constant shaving. 

Quietly the man drew near. He did not see Piers under his loweredhat-brim till he was within a few feet of him. Then, becoming suddenlyaware of him, he raised his eyes. A moment later, his hand went up in abrief, friendly salute. 

Piers' hand made instant response. "Splendid morning!" he began tosay--and stopped with the words half-uttered. The blood surged up to hisforehead in a great wave. "Good Heavens!" he said instead. 

The other man paused. He did not look at Piers very narrowly, but merelyglanced towards him and then turned his eyes towards the wonderful, far-stretching blue below them. 

"Yes, splendid, " he said quietly. "Worth remembering--a scenelike this. "

His tone was absolutely impersonal. He stood beside Piers for a moment ortwo, gazing forth into the infinite distance; then with a slight gestureof leave-taking he turned as if to continue his progress. 

In that instant, however, Piers recovered himself sufficiently to speak. His face was still deeply flushed, but his voice was steady enough as heturned fully and addressed the new-comer. 

"Don't you know me? We have met before. "

The other man stopped at once. He held out his hand. "Yes, of course Iknow you--knew you the moment I set eyes on you. But I wasn't sure thatyou would care to be recognized by me. "

"What on earth do you take me for?" said Piers bluntly. 

He gripped the hand hard, looking straight into the calm eyes with acurious sense of being sustained thereby. "I believe, " he said, with anodd impulse of impetuosity, "that you are the one man in the world that Icouldn't be other than pleased to see. "

The elder man smiled. "That's very kind of you, " he said. 

He had the slow speech of one accustomed to solitude. He kept Piers' handin his in a warm, firm grip. "I have often thought about you, " he said. "You know, I never heard your name. "

"My name is Evesham, " said Piers, with the quick, gracious mannerhabitual to him. "Piers Evesham. "

"Thank you. Mine is Edmund Crowther. Odd that we should meet like this!"

"A piece of luck I didn't expect!" said Piers boyishly. "Have you onlyjust arrived?"

"I came here last night from Marseilles. " Crowther's eyes rested on thesmiling face with its proud, patrician features with the look of a manexamining a perfect bronze. "It's very kind of you to welcome me likethis, " he said. "I was feeling a stranger in a strange land as I came upthat path. "

"I've been watching you, " said Piers. "I liked the business-like way youtackled it. It was British. "

Crowther smiled. "I suppose it has become second nature with me to putbusiness first, " he said. 

"Wish I could say the same, " said Piers; and then, with his hand onthe other man's arm: "Come and have a drink! You are staying for sometime, I hope?"

"No, not for long, " said Crowther. "It was yielding to temptation to comehere at all. "

"Are you alone?" asked Piers. 

"Quite alone. "

"Then there's no occasion to hurry, " said Piers. "You stay here for abit, and kill time with me. "

"I never kill time, " said Crowther deliberately. "It's too scarce acommodity. "

"It is when you're happy, " said Piers. 

Crowther looked at him with a question in his eyes that he did not putinto words, and in answer to which Piers laughed a reckless laugh. 

They were walking side by side up the hotel-garden, and each successivegroup of visitors that they passed turned to stare. For both men were ina fashion remarkable. The massive strength of the elder with his square, dogged face and purposeful stride; the lithe, muscular power of theyounger with his superb carriage and haughty nobility of feature, formeda contrast as complete as it was arresting. 

They ascended the steps that led up to the terrace, and here Pierspaused. "You sit down here while I go and order drinks! Here's acomfortable seat, and here's an English paper!"

He thrust it into Crowther's hand and departed with a careless whistle onhis lips. But Crowther did not look at the paper. His eyes followed Piersas long as he was in sight, and then with that look in them as of one whowatches from afar turned contemplatively towards the sea. After a littlehe took his hat off and suffered the morning-breeze to blow across hisforehead. He had the serene brow of a child, though the hair above it wasbroadly streaked with grey. 

He was still sitting thus when there came the sound of jerky footsteps onthe terrace behind him and an irascible voice addressed him with scarcelyconcealed impatience. 

"Excuse me! I saw you talking to my grandson just now. Do you know wherethe young fool is gone to?"

Crowther turned in his solid, imperturbable fashion, looked at thespeaker, and got to his feet. 

"I can, " he said, with a smile. "He has gone to procure drinks in myhonour. He and I are--old friends. "

"Oh!" said Sir Beverley, and looked him up and down in a fashion whichanother man might have found offensive. "And who may you be?"

"My name is Crowther, " said the other with simplicity. 

Sir Beverley grunted. "That doesn't tell me much. Never heard ofyou before. "

"I daresay not. " Crowther was quite unmoved; there was even a hint ofhumour in his tone. "Your grandson is probably a man of many friends. "

"Why should you say that?" demanded Sir Beverley suspiciously. 

"Won't you sit down?" said Crowther. 

Sir Beverley hesitated a moment, then abruptly complied with thesuggestion. Crowther followed his example, and they faced one anotheracross the little table. 

"I say it, " said Crowther, "because that is the sort of lad I takehim to be. "

Sir Beverley grunted again. "And when and where did you make hisacquaintance?" he enquired, with a stern, unsparing scrutiny of the calmface opposite. 

"We met in Australia, " said Crowther. "It must be six years or more ago. "

"Australia's a big place, " observed Sir Beverley. 

Crowther's slow smile appeared. "Yes, sir, it is. It's so mighty big thatit makes all the other places of the world seem small. Have you ever beenin Queensland--ever seen a sheep-farm?"

"No, I've never been in Queensland, " snapped Sir Beverley. "But as tosheep-farms, I've got one of my own. "

"How many acres?" asked Crowther. 

"Oh, don't ask me! Piers will tell you. Piers knows. Where the devil isthe boy? Why doesn't he come?"

"Here, sir, here!" cried Piers, coming up behind him. "I see you havemade the acquaintance of my friend. Crowther, let me present you to mygrandfather, Sir Beverley Evesham! I've just been to look for you, " headded to the latter. "But Victor told me you had gone out, and then Ispied you out of the window. "

"I told you I was coming out, didn't I?" growled Sir Beverley. "So thisis a friend of yours, is it? How is it I've never heard of him before?"

"We lost sight of each other, " explained Piers, pulling forward a chairbetween them and dropping into it. "But that state of affairs is notgoing to happen again. How long are you over for, Crowther?"

"Possibly a year, possibly more. " Again Crowther's eyes were upon him, critical but kindly. 

"Going to spend your time in England?" asked Piers. 

Crowther nodded. "Most of it, yes. "

"Good!" said Piers with satisfaction. "We shall see plenty of you then. "

"But I am going to be busy, " said Crowther, with a smile. 

"Of course you are. You can come down and teach me how to make the HomeFarm a success, " laughed Piers. 

"I shall be very pleased to try, " said Crowther, "though, " he turnedtowards Sir Beverley, "I expect you, sir, know as much on that subject aseither of us. "

Sir Beverley's eyes were upon him with searching directness. He seemed tobe trying to discover a reason for his boy's obvious pleasure in hisunexpected meeting with this man who must have been nearly twice his age. 

"I've never done much in the farming line, " he said briefly, in answer toCrowther's observation. "It's been more of a pastime with me thananything else. It's the same with Piers here. He's only putting in timewith it till the constituency falls vacant. "

"I see, " said Crowther, adding with his quiet smile: "There seems to beplenty of time anyhow in the old country, whatever else she may beshort of. "

Piers laughed as he lifted his glass. "Time for everything but work, Crowther. She has developed beastly loose morals in her old age. Some daythere'll come a nasty bust up, and she may pull herself together and dothings again, or she may go to pieces. I wonder which. "

"I don't, " said Crowther. 

"You don't?" Piers paused, glass in hand, looking at him expectantly. 

"No, I don't. " Crowther also raised his glass; he looked Piers straightin the eyes. "Here's to the boys of England, Piers!" he said. "They'llsee to it that she comes through. "

Sir Beverley also drank, but with a distasteful air. "You've a higheropinion of the young fools than I have, " he remarked. 

"I've made a study of the breed, sir, " said Crowther. 

The conversation drifted to indifferent matters, but Piers' interestremained keen. It seemed that all his vitality had reawakened at thecoming of this slow-speaking man who had looked so long upon the widespaces of the earth that his vision seemed scarcely adaptable to lesserthings. There was that in his personality that caught Piers' fancyirresistibly. Perhaps it was his utter calmness, his unvarying, rock-likestrength. Perhaps it was just the good fellowship that looked out of thesteady eyes and sounded in every tone of the leisurely voice. Whateverthe cause, his presence had made a vast difference to Piers. His boredomhad completely vanished. He even forgot to wonder if there were a letterlying waiting for him inside the hotel. 

Crowther excused himself at length and rose to take his leave, whereuponSir Beverley very abruptly, and to his grandson's surprise andgratification, invited him to dine with them that night. Piers at onceseconded the invitation, and Crowther without haste or hesitationaccepted it. 

Then, square and purposeful, he went away. 

"A white man!" murmured Piers half to himself. 

"One who knows his own mind anyhow, " remarked Sir Beverley drily. 

He did not ask Piers for the history of their friendship, and Piers, remembering this later, wondered a little at the omission. 

CHAPTER XXIII

A FRIEND'S COUNSEL

When Piers went to dress that night he found two letters laid discreetlyupon his table, awaiting perusal. 

Victor, busily engaged in laying out his clothes, cast a wicked eye backover his shoulder as his young master pounced upon them, then with ashrug resumed his task, smiling to himself the while. 

Both letters were addressed in womanly handwriting, but Piers wentunerringly to the one he most desired to read. His hands shook a littleas he opened it, but he caught sight of his Christian name at the head ofit and breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Dear Piers, "--so in clear, decided writing the message ran, --"I havewondered many times if I ought to be angry as well as sorry over thatletter of yours. It was audacious, wasn't it? Only I know so well thatyou did not mean to hurt me when you wrote it. But, Piers, what I saidbefore, you compel me to say again. This thing must stop. You say you arenot a boy, so I shall not treat you as such. But indeed you must take myword for it when I tell you that I shall never marry again. 

"I want to be quite honest with you, so you mustn't think that my twoyears of married life were by any means idyllic. They were not. The man Imarried was a failure, but I loved him, and because I loved him Ifollowed him to the world's end. We were engaged two years before wemarried. My father disapproved; but when he died I was left lonely, so Ifollowed Eric, whom I had not seen for eighteen months, to Australia. Wewere married in Sydney. He had work at that time in a shipping-office, but he did not manage to keep it. I did not know why at first. I wasyoung, and I had always led a sheltered life. Then one night I found thathe had been drinking, and after that I understood--many things. I think Iknow what you will say of him when you read this. It looks so crudewritten. But, Piers, he was not a bad man. He had this one fatalweakness, but he loved me, and he was good to me nearly always. "

Piers' teeth closed suddenly and fiercely on his lower lip at this point;but he read on grimly with no other sign of indignation. 

"Do you remember how I took upon myself once to warn you against losingyour self-control?" The handwriting was not quite so steady here; theletters looked hurried, as if some agitation had possessed the writer. "Ifelt I had to do it, for I had seen a man's life completely wreckedthrough it. I know he was one of the many that go under every day, butthe tragedy was so near me. I have never quite been able to shake off thedreadful memories of it. He was to all outward appearance a strong-willedman, but that habit was stronger, though he fought and fought against it. When he failed, he seemed to lose everything, --self-respect, self-control, strength of purpose, --everything. But when the demon lefthim, he always repented so bitterly, so bitterly. I had a little money, enough to live on. He used to urge me to leave him, to go back toEngland, and live in peace. As if I could have done such a thing! And sowe struggled on, making a desperately hard fight for it, till one awfulnight when he came home in raving delirium. I can't describe that toyou. I don't want you to know what it was like. I nursed him through it, but it was terrible. He did not always know what he was doing. At timeshe was violent. "

A drop of blood suddenly ran down Piers' chin; he pulled out hishandkerchief sharply and wiped it away, still reading on. 

"He got over it, but it broke him. He knew--we both knew--that thingswere hopeless. We tried for a time to shut our eyes to the fact, but itremained. And then one day very suddenly he roused himself and told methat he had heard of a job up-country and was going to it. I could notstop him. I could not even go with him. And so--for the first time sinceour marriage--we parted. He promised to come back to me for the birth ofour child. But before that happened he was dead, killed in a drunkenbrawl. It was just what I had always feared--the tragedy that overhung usfrom the beginning. Piers, that's all. I've told it very badly. But Ifelt you must know how my romance died; and how impossible it is that Ishould ever have another. It didn't break my heart. It wasn't suddenenough for that. And now that he is gone, I can see it is best. But themanner of his going--that was the dreadful part. I told you about my babygirl, how she was born blind, and how five years ago she died. 

"So now you know my little tragic history from beginning to end. There isno accounting for love. We follow our instincts, I suppose. But it leadsus sometimes along paths that we could never bear to travel twice. Isthere any pain, I wonder, like the pain of disillusionment, of seeing thebeloved idol lying in the dust? This is a selfish point of view, I know;but I want you to realize that you have made a mistake. Dear Piers, I amvery, very sorry it has happened. No, not angry at all; somehow I can'tbe angry. It's such a difficult world to live in, and there are so manyinfluences at work. But you must forget this wish of yoursindeed--indeed. I am too old, too experienced, too worldly-wise, tooprosaic for you in every way. You must marry a girl who has never lovedbefore. You must have the first and best of a woman's heart. You musthave 'The True Romance. '

"That, Piers, will always be the wish and prayer of

"Your loving friend, "AVERY. "

Piers' hands were steady enough now. There was something slow andfatalistic in the way they folded the letter. He looked up from it atlength with dark eyes that gazed unwaveringly before him, as though theysaw a vision. 

"You will be late, _Monsieur Pierre_, " suggested Victor softly athis elbow. 

"What?" Piers turned those dreaming eyes upon him, and suddenly helaughed and stretched his arms wide as one awaking. The steadfast lookwent out of his eyes; they danced with gaiety. "Hullo, you old joker!Well, let's dress then and be quick about it!"

During the process it flashed upon Piers that all mention of Tudor hadbeen avoided in the letter he had just read. He frowned momentarily atthe thought. Had she deliberately avoided the subject? And if so--but onthe instant his brow cleared again. No, she had written too frankly forthat. She had not mentioned the matter simply because she regarded it asunimportant. The great question lay between herself and him alone. Ofthat he was wholly certain. He smiled again at the thought. No, he wasnot afraid of Tudor. 

"_Monsieur_ is well pleased, " murmured Victor, with a flash of his roundblack eyes. 

"Quite well pleased, _mon vieux!_" laughed back Piers

"_C'est bien_!" said Victor, regarding him with the indulgent smile thathe had bestowed upon him in babyhood. "And _Monsieur_ does not want hisother letter? But no--no!"

His voice was openly quizzical; he dodged a laughing backhander fromPiers with a neat gesture of apology. It had not escaped his noticethat the letter Piers had read had disappeared unobtrusively into aninner pocket. 

"Who's the other letter from?" said Piers, glancing at it perfunctorily. "Oh, I know. No one of importance. She'll keep till after dinner. "

Ina Rose would not have felt flattered had she heard the statement. Thefan Piers had promised to send her had duly arrived from Paris with abrief--very brief--note from him, requesting her acceptance of it. Shehad written in reply a letter which she had been at some pains tocompose, graciously accepting the gift and suggesting that an account ofany adventures that befell him would be received by her with interest. She added that, a spell of frost having put an end to the hunting, lifeat Wardenhurst had become extremely flat, and she had begun to envy Piersin his exile. Her father was talking of going to Mentone for a few weeks, and wanted her to accompany him. But she was not sure that she would carefor it. What did Piers think?

When Piers did eventually read the letter, he smiled at this point, --asmile that was not altogether good to see. He was just going out to theCasino with Crowther. The latter had gone to fetch a coat, and he hadoccupied the few moments of waiting with Ina's letter. 

He was still smiling over the open page when Crowther joined him; but hefolded the letter at once, and they went out together. 

"Have you had any luck at the tables?" Crowther asked. 

"None, " said Piers. "At least I won, eventually, but Fate, in the form ofa powdered and bedizened female snatched the proceeds before I got thechance. A bad omen, what?"

"I hope not, " said Crowther. 

There was a touch of savagery in Piers' laugh. "It won't happen again, anyhow, " he said. 

They entered the Casino with its brilliant rooms and pushing crowds. Theplace was thronged. As they entered, a woman with a face of evil beauty, pressed close to Piers and spoke a word or two in French. But he lookedat her and through her with royal disdain, and so passed her by. 

They made their way to the table at which Piers had tried his luck theprevious night, waited for and finally secured a place. 

"You take it!" said Crowther. "I believe in your luck. "

Piers laughed. He staked five francs on the figure five and lost, doubledhis stakes and lost again, trebled them and lost again. 

"This is getting serious, " said Crowther. 

But still Piers laughed. "Damn it!" he said. "I will win to-night!"

"Try another figure!" said Crowther. 

But Piers refused. He laid down twenty-five francs, and with that he won. It was the turning-point. From that moment it seemed he could not dowrong. Stake after stake he won, either with his own money, orCrowther's; and finally left the table in triumph with full pockets. 

A good many watched him enviously as he went. He refused to try his luckelsewhere, but went arrogantly away with his hand through Crowther's arm. 

"He'll come back to-morrow, " observed a shrewd American. "And the nextday, and the next. He's just the sort that helps to keep thisestablishment going. They'll pick him clean. "

But he was wrong. Though elated by victory, Piers was not drawn by thegambling vice. The thing amused him, but it did not greatly attract. Hewas by no means dazzled by the spoils he carried away. 

They went out to the gardens, and called for liqueurs. The woman who hadspoken to Piers yet hovered about the doors. She cursed him through herpainted lips as he passed, but he went by her like a prince, haughtilyaloof, contemptuously regardless. 

They sat down in a comparatively quiet corner, whence they could watchthe ever-shifting picture without being disturbed. A very peculiar moodpossessed Piers. He was restless and uneasy in spite of his high spirits. For no definite reason he wanted to keep on the move. In deference toCrowther's wish, he controlled the desire, but it was an obvious effort. 

He seemed to find difficulty also in attending to Crowther's quietremarks, and after a while Crowther ceased to make them. He finished hisliqueur and sat smoking with his eyes on the dark, sensitive face thatwatched the passing crowd so indifferently, yet so persistently. 

Piers noticed his silence at last, and looked at him enquiringly. "Shall we go?"

Crowther leaned slowly towards him. The place was public, but theirprivacy was complete. 

"Piers, " he said, "may I take the privilege of an old friend?"

"You may take anything you like so far as I am concerned, " said Piersimpetuously. 

Crowther smiled a little. "Thank you. Then I will go ahead. Are youengaged to be married?"

"What?" said Piers. He looked momentarily startled; then laughed acrossthe table with a freedom that was wholly unaffected. "Am I engaged, didyou say? No, I'm not. But I'm going to be married for all that. "

"Ah!" said Crowther. "I thought I knew the signs. "

He rose with the words, and instantly Piers sprang up also. "Yes, let'sgo! I can't breathe here. Come down to the shore for a breath of air, andI'll tell you all about it!"

He linked his arm again in Crowther's, obviously glad to be gone; butwhen they had left the glittering place behind them, he still talkedinconsequently about a thousand things till in his calm fashion Crowtherturned him back. 

"I don't want you to tell me anything personal, " he said, "save onething. This girl whom you hope to marry--I gather you are prettysure of her?"

Piers threw back his head with a gesture that defied the world. "I amquite sure of her, " he said; and a moment later, with impulsiveconfidence: "She has just taken the trouble to write at length and tellme why she can't have me. "

"Ah?" Crowther's tone held curiosity as well as kindly sympathy. "Asound reason?"

"No reason at all, " flung back Piers, still with his face to the stars. "She knows that as well as I do. I tell you, Crowther, I know the way tothat woman's heart, and I could find it blindfold. She is mine already. "

"And doesn't know it?" suggested Crowther. 

"Yes, she does in her heart of hearts, --or soon will. I shall send her apost-card to-morrow and sum up the situation. "

"On a post-card?"

Crowther sounded puzzled, and Piers broke into a laugh and descended toearth. 

"Yes, in one expressive word--'Rats!' No one else will understand it, butshe will. "

"A little abrupt!" commented Crowther. 

"Yes, I'm going to be abrupt now, " said Piers with imperial confidence. "I'm going to storm the position. "

"And you are sure you will carry it?"

"Quite sure. " Piers' voice held not the faintest shade of doubt. 

"I hope you will, lad, " said Crowther kindly. "And--that being thecase--may I say what I set out to say?"

"Oh, go ahead!" said Piers. 

"It's only this, " said Crowther, in his slow, quiet way. "Only a word ofadvice, sonny, which I shouldn't give if I didn't know that your life'shappiness hangs on your taking it. You're young, but there's a lockeddoor in your past. Open that door just once before you marry the womanyou love, and show her what is behind it! It'll give her a shock maybe. But it'll be better for you both in the end. Don't let there be anylocked doors between you and your wife! You're too young for that. And ifshe's the right sort, it won't make a pin's difference to her love. Womenare like that, thank God!"

He spoke with the utmost earnestness. He was evidently keenly anxious togain his point. But his words went into utter silence. Ere they werefully spoken Piers' hand was withdrawn from his arm. His careless, swinging stride became a heavy, slackening tramp, and at last he haltedaltogether. They stood side by side in silence with their faces to themoon-silvered water. And there fell a long, long pause, as though thewhole world stopped and listened. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE PROMISE

After all, it was Crowther who broke that tragic silence; perhaps becausehe could bear it no longer. The path on which they stood was deserted. Helaid a very steady hand upon Piers' shoulder with a compassionate glanceat the stony young face which a few minutes before had been so full ofabounding life. 

"It comes hard to you, eh, lad?" he said. 

Piers stirred, almost made as if he would toss the friendly hand away;but in the end he suffered it, though he would not meet Crowther's eyes. 

"You owe it to her, " urged Crowther gently. "Tell her, lad! She's boundto be up against it sooner or later if you don't. "

"Yes, " Piers said. "I know. "

He spoke heavily; all the youth seemed to have gone out of him. After amoment, as Crowther waited he turned with a gesture of hopelessness andfaced him. "I'm like a dog on a chain, " he said. "I drag this way andthat, and eat my heart out for freedom. But it's all no use. I've got tolive and die on it. " He clenched his hands in sudden passionaterebellion. "But I'm damned if I'm going to tell anybody! It's hell enoughwithout that!"

Crowther's hand closed slowly and very steadily on his shoulder. "It'sjust hell that I want to save you from, sonny, " he said. "It may seem thehardest part to you now, but if you shirk it you'll go further in still. I know very well what I'm saying. And it's just because you're man enoughto feel this thing and not a brute beast to forget it, that it's hurt youso infernally all these years. But it'll hurt you worse, lad, it'll wringyour very soul, if you keep it a secret between you and the woman youlove. It's a big temptation, but--if I know you--you're going to stand upto it. She'll think the better of you for it in the end. But it'll be ashadow over both your lives if you don't. And there are some things thateven a woman might find it hard to forgive. "

He stopped. Piers' eyes were hard and fixed. He scarcely looked as if heheard. From below them there arose the murmur of the moonlit sea. Closeat hand the trees in a garden stirred mysteriously as though they movedin their sleep. But Piers made neither sound nor movement. He stood likean image of stone. 

Again the silence began to lengthen intolerably, to stretch out into adesert of emptiness, to become fateful with a bitterness too poignant tobe uttered. Crowther said no more. He had had his say. He waited withunswerving patience for the result. 

Piers spoke at last, and there was a queer note of humour in hisvoice, --humour that was tragic. "So I've got to go back again, have I?Back to my valley of dry bones! There's no climbing the heights for me, Crowther, never will be. Somehow or other, I am always tumbled back. "

"You're wrong, " Crowther said, with quiet decision. "It's the only wayout. Take it like a man, and you'll win through! Shirk it and--well, sonny, no shirker ever yet got anything worth having out of life. Youknow that as well as I do. "

Piers straightened himself with a brief laugh. "Yes, I know that much. But--I sometimes ask myself if I'm any better than a shirker. Life issuch a beastly farce so far as I am concerned. I never do anything. There's never anything to do. "

"Oh, rats!" said Crowther, and smiled. "There are not many fellows who dohalf as much. If to-day is a fair sample of your life, I'm damned if it'san easy one. "

"I'm used to it, " said Piers quickly. "You know, I'm awfully fond of mygrandfather--always have been. We suit each other marvellously well--insome ways. " He paused a moment, then, with an effort, "I never told himeither, Crowther. I never told a soul. "

"No, " Crowther said. "I don't see any reason that you should. But thewoman you marry--she is different. If you take her into your inner lifeat all, she is bound to come upon it sooner or later. You must see it, lad. You know it in your heart. "

"And you think she will marry me when she knows I'm a--murderer?" Piersuttered the word through clenched teeth. He had the haggard look of a manwho has endured long suffering. 

There was deep compassion in Crowther's eyes as he watched him. "I don'tthink--being a woman--she will put it in that way, " he said, "not, thatis, if she loves you. "

"How else could she put it?" demanded Piers harshly. "Is there any otherway of putting it? I killed the man intentionally. I told you so at thetime. The fellow who taught me the trick warned me that it would almostcertainly be fatal to a heavy man taken unawares. Why, he himself is nowdoing five years' penal servitude for the very same thing. Oh, I'm not ahumbug, Crowther. I bolted from the consequences. You made me bolt. ButI've often wished to heaven since that I'd stayed and faced it out. Itwould have been easier in the end, God knows. "

"My dear fellow, " Crowther said, "you will never convince me of that aslong as you live. There was nothing to gain by your staying and all tolose. Consequences there were bound to be--and always are. But there wasno good purpose to be served by wrecking your life. You were only a boy, and the luck was against you. I couldn't have stood by and seen youdragged under. "

Piers groaned. "I sometimes wish I was dead!" he said. 

"My dear chap, what's the good of that?" Crowther slipped his hand fromhis shoulder to his arm, and drew him quietly forward. "You've sufferedinfernally, but it's made a man of you. Don't forget that! It's theSculptor and the Clay, lad. He knows how best to fashion a good thing. Itisn't for the clay to cry out. "

"Is that your point of view?" Piers spoke with reckless bitterness. "Itisn't mine. "

"You'll come to it, " said Crowther gently. 

They walked on for a space in silence, till turning they began to ascendthe winding path that led up to the hotel, --the path which Piers hadwatched Crowther ascend that morning. 

Side by side they mounted, till half-way up Crowther checked theirprogress. "Piers, " he said, "I'm grateful to you for enduring myinterference in this matter. "

"Pshaw!" said Piers, "I owe you that much anyhow. "

"You owe me nothing, " said Crowther emphatically. "What I did for you, Idid for myself. I've rather a weakness--it's a very ordinary one too--fortrying to manage other people's concerns. And there's something so fineabout you that I can't bear to stand aside and see you mess up your own. So, sonny, --for my satisfaction, --will you promise me not to take a wrongturning over this?"

He spoke very earnestly, with a pleading that could not give offence. Piers' face softened almost in spite of him. "You're an awfully goodchap, " he said. 

"Promise me, lad!" pleaded Crowther, still holding his arm in a friendlygrasp; then as Piers hesitated: "You know, I'm an older man than youare. I can see further. You'll be making your own hell if you don't. "

"But why should I promise?" said Piers uneasily. 

"Because I know you will keep a promise--even against your own judgment. "Simply, with absolute conviction, Crowther made reply. "I shan't feelhappy about you--unless you promise. "

Piers smiled a little, but the lines about his mouth were grim. "Oh, allright, " he said, after a moment, "I promise;--for I think you are right, Crowther. I think too that I should probably have to tell her--whether Iwanted to or not. She's that sort--the sort that none but a skunk coulddeceive. But--" his voice altered suddenly; he turned brooding eyes uponthe sleeping sea--"I wonder if she will forgive me, " he said. "I--wonder. "

"Does she love you?" said Crowther. 

Piers' eyes flashed round at him. "I can make her love me, " he said. 

"You are sure?"

"I am sure. "

"Then, my son, she'll forgive you. And if you want to play a straightgame, tell her soon!" said Crowther. 

And Piers, with all the light gone out of his eyes, answered soberly, "I will. "

CHAPTER XXV

DROSS

In the morning they hired horses and went towards the mountains. The daywas cloudless, but Sir Beverley would not be persuaded to accompany them. 

"I'm not in the mood for exertion, " he said to Piers. "Besides, I detesthired animals, always did. I shall spend an intellectual morninglistening to the band. "

"Hope you won't be bored, sir, " said Piers. 

"Your going or coming wouldn't affect that one way or another, " respondedSir Beverley. 

Whereat Piers laughed and went his way. 

He was curiously light-hearted again that morning. The soft Southern airwith its many perfumes exhilarated him like wine. The scent of theorange-groves rose as incense to the sun. 

The animal he rode danced a skittish side-step from time to time. It wasimpossible to go with sober mien. 

"It's a good land, " said Crowther. 

"Flowing with milk and honey, " laughed Piers, with his eyes on theolive-clothed slopes. "But there's no country like one's own, what?"

"No country like England, you mean, " said Crowther. 

"Of course I do, but I was too polite to say so. "

"You needn't be polite to me, " said Crowther with his slow smile. "AndEngland happens to be my country. I am as British--" he glanced at Piers'dark face--"perhaps even a little more so--than you are. "

"I plead guilty to an Italian grandmother, " said Piers. "But you--Ithought you were Colonial. "

"I am British born and bred, " said Crowther. 

"You?" Piers looked at him in surprise. "You don't belong toAustralia then?"

"Only by adoption. I was the son of an English parson. I was destined forthe Church myself for the first twenty years of my life. " Crowther wasstill smiling, but his eyes had left Piers; they scanned the horizoncontemplatively. 

"Great Scott!" said Piers. "Lucky escape for you, what?"

"I didn't think so at the time, " Crowther spoke thoughtfully, sittingmotionless in his saddle and gazing straight before him. "You see, I waskeen on the religious life. I was narrow in my views--I was astonishinglynarrow; but I was keen. "

"Ye gods!" said Piers. 

He looked at the square, strong figure incredulously. Somehow he couldnot associate Crowther with any but a vigorous, outdoor existence. 

"You would never have stuck to it, " he said, after a moment. "You'd haveloathed the life. "

"I don't think so, " said Crowther, in his deliberate way, "though I admitI probably shouldn't have expanded much. It wasn't easy to give it up atthe time. "

"What made you do it?" asked Piers. 

"Necessity. When my father died, my mother was left with a large familyand quite destitute. I was the eldest, and a sheep-farming uncle--abrother of hers--offered me a wage sufficient to keep her going if Iwould give up the Church and join him. I was already studying. I couldhave pushed through on my own; but I couldn't have supported her. So Ihad to go. That was the beginning of my Colonial life. It wasfive-and-twenty years ago, and I've never been Home since. "

He turned his horse quietly round to continue the ascent. The road wassteep. They went slowly side by side. 

Crowther went on in a grave, detached way, as though he were telling thestory of another man's life. "I kicked hard at going, but I've lived tobe thankful that I went. I had to rough it, and it did me good. It wasjust that I wanted. There's never much fun for a stranger in a strangeland, sonny, and it took me some time to shake down. In fact just for awhile I thought I couldn't stand it. The loneliness out there on thoseacres and acres of grass-land was so awful; for I was city-bred. I'dnever been in the desert, never been out of the sound of church-bells. "He began to smile again. "I'd even got a sort of feeling that God wasn'tto be found outside civilization, " he said. "I think we getultra-civilized in our ideas sometimes. And the emptiness was almostoverpowering. It was like being shut down behind bars of iron withoccasional glimpses of hell to enliven the monotony. That was when onewent to the townships, and saw life. They didn't tempt me at first. Iwas too narrow even for that. But the loneliness went on eating andeating into me till I got so desperate in the end I was ready to snatchat any diversion. " He paused a moment, and into his steady eyes therecame a shadow that made them very human. "I went to hell, " he said. "Iwaded up to the neck in mire. I gave myself up to it body and soul. Iwallowed. And all the while it revolted me, though it was so sickeninglyeasy and attractive. I loathed myself, but I went on with it. It seemedanyhow one degree better than that awful homesickness. And then one day, right in the middle of it all, I had a sort of dream. Or perhaps itwasn't any more a dream than Jacob had in the desert. But I felt as ifI'd been called, and I just had to get up and go. I expect most peopleknow the sensation, for after all the Kingdom of Heaven is within us;but it made a bigger impression on me at the time than anything in myexperience. So I went back into the wilderness and waited. Old chap, Ididn't wait in vain. "

He suddenly turned his head, and his eyes rested upon Piers with theserenity of a man at peace with his own soul. "That's about all mystory, " he said with simplicity. "I got the strength for the job, and socarried it through. When my uncle died, I was left in command, and I'vestuck to it ever since. But I took a partner a few years back, and nowI've handed over the whole thing to him and I'm going Home at last to myold mother. "

"Going to settle in England?" asked Piers. 

Crowther shook his head. "Not now, lad. I couldn't. There's too much tobe done. No; I'm going to fulfil my old ambitions if I can. I'm going toget myself ordained. After that--"

He paused, for Piers had turned to stare at him in open amazement. "You!"he ejaculated. 

Crowther's smile came over his face like a spreading light. "You don'tthink much of parsons, I gather, sonny, " he said. 

Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "Not as a tribe, I admit. I can'tstand any man who makes an ass of himself, whatever his profession. Butof course I don't mean to assert that all parsons answer to thatdescription. I've met a few I liked. "

Crowther's smile developed into a laugh. "Then you, won't deprive me ofthe pleasure of your friendship if I become one?"

"My dear chap, " said Piers forcibly, "if you became the biggestblackguard in creation, you would remain my friend. "

It was regally spoken, but the speaker was plainly so unconscious ofarrogance that Crowther's hand came out to him and lay for a moment onhis arm. "I gathered that, sonny, " he said gently. 

Piers' eyes flashed sympathy. "And what are you going to do then? You sayyou're not going to settle in England?"

"I am not, " said Crowther, and again he was looking out ahead of him witheyes that spanned the far distance. "No; I'm going back again to the oldhaunts. There's a thundering lot to do there. It's more than a one-manjob. But, please God, I'll do what I can. I know I can do a little. It'sa hell of a place, sonny. You saw the outside edge of it yourself. "

Piers nodded without speaking. It had been in a sense his baptism offire. 

"It's the new chums I want to get hold of, " Crowther said. "They getdrawn in so devilishly easily. They're like children, many of 'em, tryingto walk on quicksands. They're bound to go in, bound to go under, and abig percentage never come up again. It's the children I want to help. Ihate to think of fresh, clean lives being thrown on to the dust-heap. It's so futile, --such a crying waste. "

"If anyone can do it, you can, " said Piers. 

"Ah! I wonder. It won't be easy, but I know their temptations so awfullywell. I've seen scores go under, I've been under myself. And that makes alot of difference. "

"Life is infernally difficult for most of us, " said Piers. 

They rode in silence for awhile, and then he changed the subject. 

It was not till they returned that Crowther announced his intention ofleaving on the following day. 

"I've no time for slacking, " he said. "I didn't come Home to slack. Andthere's the mother waiting for me. "

"Oh, man, " Piers said suddenly, "how I wish I had a mother!"

And then half-ashamed, he turned and went in search of his grandfather. 

Again that evening Crowther accepted Sir Beverley's invitation to dine attheir table. The old man seemed to regard Piers' friend with a kind ofsuspicious interest. He asked few questions but he watched him narrowly. 

"If you and the boy want to go to the Casino again, don't mind me!" hesaid, at the end of dinner. 

"We don't, sir, " said Piers promptly. "Can't we sit out on the terraceall together and smoke?"

"I don't go beyond the lounge, " said Sir Beverley, with decision. 

"All right, we'll sit in the lounge, " said Piers. 

His grandfather frowned at him. "Don't be a fool, Piers! Can't you seeyou're not wanted?" He thrust out an abrupt hand to Crowther. "Good-nightto you! I shall probably retire before you come in. "

"He is leaving first thing in the morning, " said Piers. 

Sir Beverley's frown was transferred to Crowther. He looked at himpiercingly. "Leaving, are you? Going to England, eh? I suppose we shallmeet again then?"

"I hope so, " said Crowther. 

Sir Beverley grunted. "Do you? Well, we shan't be moving yet. But--ifyou care to look us up at Rodding Abbey when we do get back--you can;eh, Piers?"

"I tell him, he must, sir, " said Piers. 

"You are very kind, " said Crowther. "Good-bye sir! And thank you!"

He and Piers went out together, and walked to and fro in the garden abovethe sea. The orchestra played fitfully in the hotel behind them, and nowand then there came the sounds of careless voices and wandering feet. They themselves talked but little. Piers was in a dreamy mood, and hiscompanion was plainly deep in thought. 

He spoke at length out of a long silence. "Did your grandfather sayRodding Abbey just now?"

"Yes, " said Piers, waking up. 

"It's near a place called Wardenhurst?" pursued Crowther. 

"Yes, " said Piers again. "Ever been there?"

"No, " Crowther spoke slowly, as though considering his words. "Someone Iknow lives there, that's all. "

"Someone you know?" Piers stood still. He looked at Crowther sharplythrough the dimness. 

"I don't suppose you have ever met her, lad, " said Crowther quietly. "From what I know of society in the old country you wouldn't move in thesame circle. But as I have promised myself to visit her, it seems betterto mention the fact. "

"Why shouldn't you mention it? What is her name?" Piers spoke quickly, inthe imperious fashion habitual to him when not quite at his ease. 

Crowther hesitated. He seemed to be debating some point with himself. 

At length, "Her name, " he said slowly, "is Denys. "

Piers made a sudden movement that passed unexplained. There fell a fewmoments of silence. Then, in a voice even more measured thanCrowther's, he spoke. 

"As it happens, I have met her. Tell me what you know about her, --if youdon't mind. "

Again Crowther hesitated. 

"Go on, " said Piers. 

They were facing one another in the darkness. The end of Piers' cigar hadceased to glow. He did not seem to be breathing. But in the tense momentsthat followed his words there came to Crowther the hard, quick beating ofhis heart like the thud of a racing engine far away. 

Instinctively he put out a hand. "Piers, old chap, --" he said. 

"Go on!" Piers said again. 

He gripped both hand and wrist with nervous fingers, holding them almostas though he would force from him the information he desired. 

Crowther waited no longer, for he knew in that moment that he stood inthe presence of a soul in torment. "You'll have to know it, " he said, "though why these things happen, God alone knows. Sonny, she is the widowof the man whose death you caused. "

The words were spoken, and after them came silence--such a silence ascould be felt. Once the hands that gripped Crowther's seemed about toslacken, and then in a moment they tightened again as the hands of adrowning man clinging to a spar. 

Crowther attempted nothing in the way of sympathy or consolation. Hemerely stood ready. But it was evident that he did not need to be toldof the tragedy that had suddenly fallen upon Piers' life. His attitudesaid as much. 

Very, very slowly at last, as if not wholly sure of his balance, Pierslet him go. He took out his cigar with a mechanical movement andlooked at it; then abruptly returned it to his lips and drew itfiercely back to life. 

Then, through a cloud of smoke, he spoke. "Crowther, I made you a promiseyesterday. "

"You did, " said Crowther gravely. 

Piers threw him a quick look. "Oh, you needn't be afraid, " he said. "I'mnot going to cry off. It's not my way. But--I want you to make me apromise in return. "

"What is it, sonny?" There was just a hint of anxiety in Crowther's tone. 

Piers made a reckless, half-defiant movement of the head. "It is that youwill never--whatever the circumstances--speak of this thing again toanyone--not even to me. "

"You think it necessary to ask that of me?" said Crowther. 

"No, I don't!" Impulsively Piers made answer. "I believe I'm a cur toask it. But this thing has dogged me so persistently that I feel like ananimal being run to earth. For my peace of mind, Crowther;--because I'm acoward if you like--give me your word on it!"

He laid a hand not wholly steady upon Crowther's shoulder, and impelledhim forward. His voice was low and agitated. 

"Forgive me, old chap!" he urged. "And understand, if you can. It's allyou can do to help. "

"My dear lad, of course I do!" Instant and reassuring came Crowther'sreply. "If you want my promise, you have it. The business is yours, notmine. I shall never interfere. "

"Thank you--thanks awfully!" Piers said. 

He drew a great breath. His hand went through Crowther's arm. 

"That gives me time to think, " he said. "What an infernal tangle thisbeastly world is! I suppose you think there's a reason for everything?"

"You've heard of gold being tried in the fire, " said Crowther. 

Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "I'm not gold, my dear chap, but thetinniest dross that ever was made. Shall we go and have a drink, what?This sort of thing always makes me thirsty. "

It was characteristically abrupt. It ended the matter in a trice. Theywent together to the hotel _buffet_, and there Piers quenched his thirst. It was while there that Crowther became aware that his mood had whollychanged. He laughed and joked with the bright-eyed French girl who waitedupon them, and seemed loth to depart. Silently, but with a growinganxiety, Crowther watched him. There was certainly nothing forced abouthis gaiety. It was wildly, recklessly spontaneous; but there was about ita fevered quality that set Crowther almost instinctively on his guard. He did not know, and he had no means of gauging, exactly how deeply theiron had pierced. But that some sort of wound had been inflicted he couldnot doubt. It might be merely a superficial one, but he feared that itwas something more than that. There was a queer, intangible species ofmockery in Piers' attitude, as though he set the whole world at defiance. 

And yet he did not look like a man who had been stunned by an unexpected, sledge-hammer blow of Fate. He was keenly, fiercely alive to hissurroundings. He seemed to be gibing rather at a blow that had glancedaside. Uneasily Crowther wondered. 

It was he who finally suggested a move. It was growing late. 

"So it is!" said Piers. "You ought to be turning in if you really mean tomake an early start. "

He stood still in the hall and held out his hand. "Good-night, old chap!I'm not going up at present. "

"You'd better, " said Crowther. 

"No, I can't. I couldn't possibly turn in yet. " He thrust his hand uponCrowther. "Good-night! I shall see you in the morning. "

Crowther took the hand. The hall was deserted. They stood together undera swinging lamp, and by its flaring light Crowther sought to read hiscompanion's face. 

For a moment or two Piers refused to meet his look, then with suddenstubbornness he raised his eyes and stared back. They shone as black andhard as ebony. 

"Good-night!" he said again. 

Crowther's level brows were slightly drawn. His hand, square and strong, closed upon Piers' and held it. 

For a few seconds he did not speak; then: "I don't know that I feel liketurning in yet either, sonny, " he said deliberately. 

Piers made a swift movement of impatience. His eyes seemed to growbrighter, more grimly hard. 

"I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me in any case, " he said. "I'm goingup to see if my grandfather has all he wants. "

It was defiantly spoken. He turned with the words, almost wresting hishand free, and strode away towards the lift. 

Reaching it, some sense of compunction seemed to touch him for he lookedback over his shoulder with an abrupt gesture of farewell. 

Crowther made no answering sign. He stood gravely watching. But, asthe lift shot upwards, he turned aside and began squarely to ascendthe stairs. 

When Piers came out of his room ten minutes later with a coat over hisarm he came face to face with him in the corridor. There was a certaingrimness apparent about Crowther also by that time. He offered noexplanation of his presence, although quite obviously he was waiting. 

Piers stood still. There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes that cameand went. "Look here, Crowther!" he said. "It's no manner of use yourattempting this game with me. I'm going out, and--whether you like it ornot, I don't care a damn--I'm going alone. "

"Where are you going?" said Crowther. 

"To the Casino, " Piers flung the words with a gleam of clenched teeth. 

Crowther looked at him straight and hard. "What for?" he asked. 

"What do people generally go for?" Piers prepared to move on as heuttered the question. 

But Crowther deliberately blocked his way. "No, Piers, " he said quietly. "You're not going to-night. "

The blood rose in a great wave to Piers' forehead. His eyes shonesuddenly red. "Do you think you're going to stop me?" he said. 

"For to-night, sonny--yes. " Quite decidedly Crowther made reply. "To-morrow you will be your own master. But to-night--well, you've had abit of a knock out; you're off your balance. Don't go to-night!"

He spoke with earnest appeal, but he still blocked the passage squarely, stoutly, immovably. 

The hot flush died out of Piers' face; he went slowly white. But theblaze of wrath in his eyes leaped higher. For the moment he lookedscarcely sane. 

"If you don't clear out of my path, I shall throw you!" he said, speakingvery quietly, but with a terrible distinctness that made misunderstandingimpossible. 

Crowther, level-browed and determined, remained where he was. "I don'tthink you will, " he said. 

"Don't you?" A faint smile of derision twisted Piers' lips. He gatheredup the coat he carried, and threw it across his shoulder. 

Crowther watched him with eyes that never varied. "Piers!" he said. 

"Well?" Piers looked at him, still with that slight, grim smile. 

Crowther stood like a rock. "I will let you pass, sonny, if you can tellme--on your word of honour as a gentleman--that the tables are all youhave in your mind. "

Piers tossed back his head with the action of an angry beast. "What thedevil has that to do with you?"

"Everything, " said Crowther. 

He moved at last, quietly, massively, and took Piers by the shoulders. "My son, " he said, "I know where you are going. I've been there myself. But in God's name, lad, don't--don't go! There are some stains that nevercome out though one would give all one had to be rid of them. "

"Let me go!" said Piers. 

He was breathing quickly; his eyes gazed fiercely into the elder man'sface. He made no violent movement, but his whole body was tensely strungto resist. 

Crowther's hands tightened upon him. "Not to-night!" he said. 

"Yes, now!" Something of electricity ran through Piers; there came as itwere the ripple of muscles contracting for a spring. Yet still he stoodmotionless, menacing but inactive. 

"I will not!" Sudden and hard Crowther's answer came; his hold became agrip. By sheer unexpectedness of action, he forced Piers back against thedoor behind him. 

It gave inwards, and they stumbled into the darkness of the bedroom. 

"You fool!" said Piers. "You fool!"

Yet he gave ground, scarcely resisting, and coming up against the bed satdown upon it suddenly as if spent. 

There fell a brief silence, a tense, hard-breathing pause. Then Piersreached up and freed himself. 

"Oh, go away, Crowther!" he said. "You're a kind old ass, but I don'twant you. And you needn't spend the night in the corridor either. See?Just go to bed like a Christian and let me do the same!"

The struggle was over; so suddenly, so amazingly, that Crowther stooddumbfounded. He had girded himself to wrestle with a giant, but there wasnothing formidable about the boy who sat on the edge of his bed andlaughed at him with easy ridicule. 

"Why don't you switch on the light, " he jeered, "and have a good lookround for the devil? He was here a minute ago. What? Don't you believe indevils? That's heresy. All good parsons--" He got up suddenly and went tothe switch. In a second the room was flooded with light. He returned toCrowther with the full flare on his face, and the only expression it worewas one of careless friendliness. He held out his hand. "Good-night, dear old fellow! Say your prayers and go to bed! And you needn't have anymore nightmares on my account. I'm going to turn in myself directly. "

There was no mistaking his sincerity, or the completeness of hissurrender. Crowther could but take the extended hand, and, in silentastonishment, treat the incident as closed. 

He even wondered as he went away if he had not possibly exaggerated thewhole matter, though at the heart of him he knew that this was only whatPiers himself desired him to believe. He could not but feel convinced, however, that the danger was past for the time at least. In his owninimitable fashion Piers had succeeded in reassuring him. He was fullysatisfied that the boy would keep his word, for his faith in him wasabsolute. But he felt the victory that was his to be a baffling one. Hehad conquered merely because Piers of his own volition had ceased toresist. He did not understand that sudden submission. Like Sir Beverley, he was puzzled by it. There was about it a mysterious quality that eludedhis understanding. He would have given a good deal for a glimpse of themotive that lay behind. 

But he had to go without it. Piers was in no expansive mood. Perhaps hemight have found it difficult to explain himself even had he so desired. 

Whatever the motive that had urged him, it urged him no longer, or it hadbeen diverted into a side-channel. For almost as soon as he was alone, hethrew himself down and scribbled a careless line to Ina Rose, advisingher to accompany her father to Mentone, and adding that he believed shewould not be bored there. 

When he had despatched Victor with the letter, he flung his window wideand leaned out of it with his eyes wide opened on the darkness, and onhis lips that smile that was not good to see. 

CHAPTER XXVI

SUBSTANCE

It was a blustering spring day, and Avery, caught in a sudden storm ofdriving sleet, stood up against the railings of the doctor's house, sheltering as best she might. She was holding her umbrella well in theteeth of the gale, and trying to protect an armful of purchases as well. 

She was alone, Gracie, the black sheep, having been sent to school at theclose of the Christmas holidays, and Jeanie being confined to the housewith a severe cold. Olive, having become more and more her father'sconstant companion, disdained shopping expeditions. The two elder boysand Pat were all at a neighbouring school as weekly boarders, and thoughshe missed them Avery had it not in her heart to regret the arrangement. The Vicarage might at times seem dreary, but it had become undeniably anabode of peace. 

Mrs. Lorimer was gradually recovering her strength, and Avery's care nowcentred more upon Jeanie than her mother. Though the child had recoveredfrom her accident, she had not been really well all the winter, and thecold spring seemed to tax her strength to the uttermost. Tudor stilldropped in at intervals, but he said little, and his manner did notencourage Avery to question him. Privately she was growing anxious aboutJeanie, and she wished that he would be more communicative. He hadabsolutely forbidden book-work, a fiat to which Mr. Lorimer had yieldedunder protest. 

"The child will grow up a positive dunce, " he had declared. 

To which Tudor had brusquely rejoined, "What of it?"

But his word was law so far as Jeanie was concerned, and Mr. Lorimer hadrelinquished the point with the sigh of one submitting to the inevitable. He did not like Lennox Tudor, but for some reason he always avoided anopen disagreement with him. 

It was of Jeanie that Avery was thinking as she stood there huddledagainst the railings while the sleet beat a fierce tattoo on her levelledumbrella and streamed from it in rivers on to the ground. She evendebated with herself if it seemed advisable to turn and enter thedoctor's dwelling, and try to get him to speak frankly of the matter ashe had spoken once before. 

She dismissed the idea, however, reflecting that he would mostprobably be out, and she was on the point of collecting her forces tomake a rush for another sheltered spot further on when the front dooropened unexpectedly behind her, and Tudor himself came forthbareheaded into the rain. 

"What are you doing there, Mrs. Denys?" he said. "Why don't youcome inside?"

He opened the gate for her, and took her parcels without waiting for areply. And Avery, still with her umbrella poised against the blast, smiled her thanks and passed in. 

The hair grew far back on Tudor's forehead, it was in fact becomingscanty on the top of his head; and the raindrops glistened upon it as heentered behind Avery. He wiped them away, and then took off his glassesand wiped them also. 

"Come into the dining-room!" he said. "You are just in time to joinme at tea. "

"You're very kind, " Avery said. "But I ought to hurry back the moment therain lessens. "

"It won't lessen yet, " said Tudor. "Take off your mackintosh, won't you?I expect your feet are wet. There's a fire to dry them by. "

Certainly the storm showed no signs of abating. The sky was growingdarker every instant. Avery slipped the streaming mackintosh from hershoulders and entered the room into which he had invited her. 

The blaze on the hearth was cheering after the icy gale without. She wentto it, stretching her numbed hands to the warmth. 

Tudor pushed forward a chair. "I believe you are chilled to thebone, " he said. 

She laughed at that. "Oh no, indeed I am not! But it is a cold wind, isn't it? Have you finished your work for to-day?"

Tudor foraged in a cupboard for an extra cup and saucer. "No. I've got togo out again later. I've just come back from Miss Whalley's. She's got atouch of jaundice. "

"Oh, poor thing!" said Avery. 

"Yes; poor thing!" echoed Tudor grimly. "She is very sorry for herself, Ican assure you; but as full of gossip as ever. " He paused. 

Avery, with her face to the fire, laughed a little. "Anything new?"

"Miss Whalley, " said Tudor deliberately, "always gets hold of somethingnew. Never noticed that?"

"Wouldn't you like me to pour out?" suggested Avery. 

"No. You keep your feet on the fender. Do you want to hear the latesttittle-tattle--or not?"

There was a wary gleam behind Tudor's glasses; but Avery did not turn hereyes from the fire. A curious little feeling of uneasiness possessed her, a sensation that scarcely amounted to dread yet which quickened thebeating of her heart in a fashion that she found vaguely disconcerting. 

"Don't tell me anything ugly!" she said gently, still not looking athim. 

Tudor uttered a short laugh. "There's nothing especially venomous aboutit that I can see. " He lifted the teapot and began to pour. "Have youheard from young Evesham lately?"

The question was casually uttered; but Avery's hands made a slightinvoluntary movement over the fire towards which she leaned. 

"No, " she said. 

At the same moment the cup that Tudor was filling overflowed, and hewhispered something under his breath and set down the tea-pot. 

Avery turned towards him instinctively, to see him dabbing the table withhis handkerchief. 

"It's almost too dark to see what one is doing, " he said. 

"It is, " she assented gravely, and turned back quietly to the fire, notoffering to assist. A soft veil of reserve seemed to have descendedupon her. She did not speak again until he had remedied the disasterand brought her some tea. Then, with absolute composure, she raised hereyes to his. 

"You were going to tell me something about Piers Evesham, " she said. 

His eyes looked back into hers with a certain steeliness, as though theysought to penetrate her reserve. 

"I was, " he said, after a moment, "though I don't suppose it willinterest you very greatly. I had it from Miss Whalley, but I was not toldthe source of her information. Rumour says that the young man is engagedto Miss Ina Rose of Wardenhurst. "

"Oh, really?" said Avery. She took the cup he offered her with a handthat was perfectly steady, though she was conscious of the fact that herface was pale. "They are abroad, I think?"

"Yes, in the Riviera. " Tudor's eyes fell away from hers abruptly. "Atleast they have been. Someone said they were coming home. " He stooped toput wood on the fire, and there fell a silence. 

Avery spoke after a moment. "No doubt he will be happier married. "

"I wonder, " said Tudor. "I should say myself that he has the sort oftemperament that is never satisfied. He's too restless for that. I don'tthink Miss Ina Rose is greatly to be envied. "

"Unless she loves him, " said Avery. She spoke almost under her breath, her eyes upon the fire. Tudor, standing beside her with his elbow onthe mantelpiece, was still conscious of that filmy veil of reservefloating between them. It chafed him, but it was too intangible a thingto tear aside. 

He waited therefore in silence, watching her face, the tender lines ofher mouth, the sweet curves that in childhood must have made a perfectpicture of happiness. 

She raised her eyes at length. "Dr. Tudor!"

And then she realized his scrutiny, and a soft flush rose and overspreadher pale face. She lifted her straight brows questioningly. 

And all in a moment Tudor found himself speaking, --not of his ownvolition, not the words he had meant to speak, but nervously, stammeringly, giving utterance to the thoughts that suddenly welled overfrom his soul. "I've been wanting to speak for ages. I couldn't get itout. But it's no good keeping it in, is it? I don't get any nearer thatway. I don't want to vex you, make you feel uncomfortable. No one knowsbetter than I that I haven't much to offer. But I can give you a homeand--and all my love, if you will have it. It may seem a small thing toyou, but it's bigger than the calf-love of an infant like young Evesham. I know he dared to let his fancy stray your way, and you see now what itwas worth. But mine--mine isn't fancy. "

And there he stopped; for Avery had risen and was facing him in thefirelight with eyes of troubled entreaty. 

"Oh, please, " she said, "please don't go on!"

He stood upright with a jerk. The distress on her face restored hisnormal self-command more quickly than any words. Half-mechanically hereached out and took her tea-cup, setting it down on the mantelpiecebefore her. 

"Don't be upset!" he said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I shan't go on, if it is against your wish. "

"It is, " said Avery. She spoke tremulously, locking her hands fasttogether. "It must be my own fault, " she said, "I'm dreadfully sorry. Ihoped you weren't--really in earnest. "

He smiled at that with a touch of cynicism. "Did you think I was amusingmyself--or you? Sit down again, won't you? There is no occasion whateverfor you to be distressed. I assure you that you are in no way to blame. "

"I am dreadfully sorry, " Avery repeated. 

"That's nice of you. I had scarcely dared to flatter myself that youwould be--glad. So you see, you have really nothing to reproach yourselfwith. I am no worse off than I was before. "

She put out her hand to him with a quick, confiding gesture. "You arevery kind to put it in that way. I value your friendship so much, so verymuch. Yes, and I value your love too. It's not a small thing to me. Only, you know--you know--" she faltered a little--"I've been married before, and--though I loved my husband--my married life was a tragedy. Oh yes, heloved me too. It wasn't that sort of misery. It was--it was drink. "

"Poor girl!" said Tudor. 

He spoke with unwonted gentleness, and he held her hand with the utmostkindness. There was nothing of the rejected lover in his attitude. Hewas man enough to give her his first sympathy. 

Avery's lips were quivering. She went on with a visible effort. "He dieda violent death. He was killed in a quarrel with another man. I was toldit was an accident, but it didn't seem like that to me. And--it had aneffect on me. It made me hard--made me bitter. "

"You, Avery!" Tudor's voice was gravely incredulous. 

She turned her face to the fire, and he saw on her lashes the gleam oftears. "I've never told anyone that; but it's the truth. It seemed to methat life was cruel, mainly because of men's vices. And women werecreated only to go under. It was a horrid sort of feeling to have, but ithas never wholly left me. I don't think I could ever face marriage asecond time. "

"Oh yes, you could, " said Tudor, quietly, "if you loved the man. "

She shook her head. "I am too old to fall in love. I have somehowmissed the romance of life. I know what it is, but it will never cometo me now. "

"And you won't marry without?" he said. 

"No. "

There fell a pause; then, still with the utmost quietness, herelinquished her hand. "I think you are right, " he said. "Marriagewithout love on both sides is a ship without ballast. Yet, I can't helpthinking that you are mistaken in your idea that you have lost thecapacity for that form of love. You may know what it is. Most women do. But I wonder if you have ever really felt it. "

"Not to the full, " Avery answered, her voice very low. "Then I was tooyoung. Mine was just a child's rapture and it was simply extinguishedwhen I came to know the kind of burden I had to bear. It all faded soquickly, and the reality was so terribly grim. Now--now I look on theworld with experienced eyes. I am too old. "

"You think experience destroys romance?" said Tudor. 

She looked at him. "Don't you?"

"No, " he said. "If it did, I do not think you would be afraid to marryme. Don't think I am trying to persuade you! I am not. But are you surethat in refusing me you are not sacrificing substance to shadow?"

"I don't quite understand you, " she said. 

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I can't be more explicit. No doubtyou will follow your own instincts. But allow me to say that I don'tthink you are the sort of woman to go through life unmated; and though Imay not be romantic, I am sound. I think I could give you a certainmeasure of happiness. But the choice is yours. I can only bow to yourdecision. "

There was a certain dignity in his speech that gave it weight. Averylistened in silence, and into silence the words passed. 

Several seconds slipped away, then without effort Tudor came back toeveryday things. "Sit down, won't you? Your tea is getting cold. "

Avery sat down, and he handed it to her, and after a moment turned asideto the table. 

"As a matter of fact, " he said, "I have just come back from theVicarage. "

"Oh, have you?" Avery looked round quickly. "You went to see Jeanie?"

"Yes. " Tudor spoke gravely. "I also saw the Vicar. I told him the childmust go away. That cough of hers is tearing her to pieces. She ought togo to the South Coast. I told him so. "

"Oh! What did he say?" Avery spoke with eagerness. She had been longingto suggest that very proposal for some time past. 

Tudor smiled into his cup. "He said it was a total impossibility. Thatwas the starting-point. At the finish it was practically decided thatyou should take her away next week. "

"I!" said Avery. 

"Yes, you. Mrs. Lorimer will manage all right now. The nurse can lookafter her and the little ones without assistance. And the secondgirl--Olive isn't it?--can look after the Reverend Stephen. It's allarranged in fact, unless it fails to meet with your approval, in whichcase of course the whole business must be reconsidered. "

"But of course I approve, " Avery said. "I would do anything that lay inmy power. But I don't quite like the idea of leaving Mrs. Lorimer. "

"She will be all right, " Tudor asserted again. "She wouldn't be happyaway from her precious husband, and she would sooner have you lookingafter Jeanie than anyone. She told me so. "

"She always thinks of others first, " said Avery. 

"So does someone else I know, " rejoined Tudor. "It's just a habitsome women have, --not always a good habit from some points of view. We may regard it as settled then, may we? You really have noobjections to raise?"

"None, " said Avery. "I think the idea is excellent. I have been feelingtroubled about Jeanie nearly all the winter. This last cold has worn herout terribly. "

Tudor nodded. "Yes. "

He drank his tea thoughtfully, and then spoke again. "I sounded her thisafternoon. The left lung is not in a healthy condition. She will need allthe attention you can give her if she is going to throw off the mischief. It has not gone very far at present, but--to be frank with you--I am veryfar from satisfied that she can muster the strength. " He got up and beganto pace the room. "I have not said this plainly to anyone else. I don'twant to frighten Mrs. Lorimer before I need. The poor soul has enough tobear without this added. Possibly the change will work wonders. Possiblyshe will pull round. Children have marvellous recuperative powers. But Ihave seen this sort of thing a good many times before, and--" he cameback to the hearth--"it doesn't make me happy. "

"I am glad you have told me, " Avery said. 

"I had to tell you. I believe you more than half suspected it. " Tudorspoke restlessly; his thoughts were evidently not of his companion atthat moment. "There are of course a good many points in her favour. Sheis a good, obedient child with a placid temperament. And the summer isbefore us. We shall have to work hard this summer, Mrs. Denys. " He smiledat her abruptly. "It is like building a sea-wall when the tide is out. We've got to make it as strong as possible before the tide comes back. "

"You may rely on me to do my very best, " Avery said earnestly. 

He nodded. "Thank you. I know I may. I always do. Hence my confidence inyou. May I give you some more tea?"

He quitted the subject as suddenly as he had embarked upon it. There wassomething very friendly in his treatment of her. She knew withunquestioning intuition that for the future he would keep strictly withinthe bounds of friendship unless he had her permission to pass beyondthem. And it was this knowledge that emboldened her at parting to say, with her hand in his: "You are very, very good to me. I would like tothank you if I could. "

He pressed her hand with the kindness of an old friend. "No, don't thankme!" he said, smiling at her in a way that somehow went to her heart. "Ishall always be at your service. But I'd rather you took it as a matterof course. I feel more comfortable that way. "

Avery left him at length and trudged home through the mud with a curiousfeeling of uncertainty in her soul. It was as though she had beenvouchsafed a far glimpse of destiny which had been too fleeting for hercomprehension. 

CHAPTER XXVII

SHADOW

The preparations that must inevitably precede a departure for anindefinite length of time kept Avery from dwelling overmuch on what hadpassed on that gusty afternoon when she had taken shelter in thedoctor's house. 

Whether or not she believed the rumour concerning Piers she scarcelyasked herself. For some reason into which she did not enter she wasfirmly resolved to exclude him from her mind, and she welcomed the manyoccupations that kept her thoughts engrossed. No word from him hadreached her since that daring letter written nearly three monthsbefore, just after his departure. It seemed that he had accepted heranswer just as she had meant him to accept it, and that he had nothingmore to say. So at least she viewed the matter, not suffering anyinward question to arise. 

She saw Lennox Tudor several times before the last day arrived. He didnot seek her out. It simply came about in the ordinary course of things. He was plainly determined that neither in public nor private should therebe any secret sense of embarrassment between them. And for this also shewas grateful, liking him for his blunt consideration for her better thanshe had ever liked him before. 

It was on the evening of the day preceding her departure with Jeanie thatshe ran down in the dusk to the post at the end of the lane with aletter. Her Australian friend had written to propose a visit, and she hadbeen obliged to put him off. 

There was a bitter wind blowing, but she hastened along hatless, with acloak thrown round her shoulders. Past the church with its shelteringyew-trees she ran, intent only upon executing her errand in as short atime as possible. 

Her hair blew loose about her face, and before she reached her goal shewas ashamed of her untidiness, but it was not worth while to return for ahat, and she pressed on with a girl's impetuosity, hoping that she wouldmeet no one. 

The hope was not to be fulfilled. She reached the box and deposited herletter therein, but as she turned from doing so, there came the fall of ahorse's hoofs along the road at the end of the lane. 

She caught the sound, and was pierced by a sudden, quite unaccountablesuspicion. Swiftly she gathered her cloak more securely about her, andhastened away. 

Instantly it seemed to her that the hoof-beats quickened. The lane wassteep, and she realized in a moment that if the rider turned up in herwake, she must very speedily be overtaken. She slackened her pacetherefore, and walked on more quietly, straining her ears to listen, notventuring to look back. 

Round the corner came the advancing animal at a brisk trot. She hadknown in her heart that it would be so. She had known from the firstmoment of hearing those hoof-beats, that Fate, strong and relentless, was on her track. 

How she had known it she could not have said, but the wild clamour of herheart stifled any reasoning that she might have tried to form. Her breathcame and went like the breath of a hunted creature. She could not hurrybecause of the trembling of her knees. Every instinct was urging her toflee, but she lacked the strength. She drew instead nearer to the wall, hoping against hope that in the gathering darkness he would pass her by. 

Nearer and nearer came the hammering hoofs. She could hear the horse'ssharp breathing, the creak of leather. And then suddenly she found shecould go no further. She stopped and leaned against the wall. 

She saw the animal pulled suddenly in, and knew that she was caught. Witha great effort she lifted a smiling face, and simulated surprise. 

"You! How do you do?"

"You knew it was me, " said Piers rather curtly. 

He dropped from the saddle with the easy grace that always marked hismovements, and came to her, leaving the animal free. 

"Why were you running away from me?" he said. "Did you want to cut me?"

He must have felt the trembling of her hand, for all in a moment hismanner changed. His fingers closed upon hers with warm assurance. Hesuddenly laughed into her face. 

"Don't answer either of those questions!" he said. "Didn't you expectto see me? We came home yesterday, thank the gods! I'm deadly sick ofbeing away. "

"Haven't you enjoyed yourself?" Avery managed to ask. 

He laughed again somewhat grimly. "I wasn't out for enjoyment. I'vebeen--amusing myself more or less. But that's not the same thing, is it?I should have drowned myself if I'd stayed out there much longer. "

"Don't talk nonsense!" said Avery. 

She spoke with a touch of sharpness. Her agitation had passed leaving hervexed with herself and with him. 

He received the admonition with a grimace. "Have you heard about myengagement yet?" he enquired irrelevantly, after a moment. 

Avery looked at him very steadily through the falling dusk. She had afeeling that he was trying to hoodwink her by some means not whollypraiseworthy. 

"Are you engaged?" she asked him, point-blank. 

He made a careless gesture. "Everybody says so. "

"Are you engaged?" Avery repeated with resolution. 

She freed her hand as she uttered the question the second time. She wasstanding up very straight against the churchyard wall sternly determinedto check all trifling. 

Piers straightened himself also. From the pride of his attitude shethought that he was about to take offence, but his voice held none as hemade reply. 

"I am not. "

She felt as if some constriction at her heart, of which till that momentshe had scarcely been aware, had suddenly slackened. She drew a long, deep breath. 

"Sorry, what?" suggested Piers. 

He began to tap a careless tattoo with his whip on the toe of his boot. He did not appear to be regarding her very closely. Yet she did not feelat her ease. That sudden sense as of strain relaxed had left hercuriously unsteady. 

She ignored his question and asked another. "Why is everybody saying thatyou are engaged?"

He lifted his shoulders. "Because everybody is more or less of agossiping fool, I should say. Still, " he threw up his head with a laugh, "notions of that sort have their uses. My grandfather for instance isfirmly of the opinion that I have come home to be married. I didn'tundeceive him. "

"You let him believe--what wasn't true?" said Avery slowly. 

He looked straight at her, with his head flung back. "I did. It suited mypurpose. I wanted to get home. He thought it was because the Roses hadreturned to Wardenhurst. I let him think so. It certainly was deadlywithout them. "

It was then that Avery turned and began quietly to walk on up the hill. He linked his arm in Pompey's bridle, and walked beside her. 

She spoke after a few moments with something of constraint. "And how haveyou been--amusing yourself?"

"I?" Carelessly he made reply. "I have been playing around with Ina Rosechiefly--to save us both from boredom. "

There sounded a faint jeering note behind the carelessness of his voice. Avery quickened her pace almost unconsciously. 

"It's all right, " said Piers. "There's been no damage done. "

"You don't know that, " said Avery, without looking at him. 

"Yes, I do. She'll marry Dick Guyes. I told her she would the nightbefore they left, and she didn't say she wouldn't. He's a much betterchap than I am, you know, " said Piers, with an odd touch of sincerity. "And he's head over ears in love with her into the bargain. "

"Are you trying to excuse yourself?" said Avery. 

He laughed. "What for? For not marrying Ina Rose? I assure you I nevermeant to marry her. "

"For trifling with her. " Avery's voice was hard, but he affected notto notice. 

"A game's a game, " he said lightly. 

Avery stopped very suddenly and faced round upon him. "That sort ofgame, " she said, and her voice throbbed with the intensity of herindignation, "is monstrous--is contemptible--a game that none butblackguards ever stoop to play!"

Piers stood still. "Great Scott!" he said softly. 

Avery swept on. Once roused, she was ruthless in her arraignment. 

"Men--some men--find it amusing to go through life breaking women'shearts just for the sport of the thing. They regard it as a pastime, inthe same light as fox-hunting or cards or racing. And when the game isover, they laugh among themselves and say what fools women are. And sothey may be, and so they are, many of them. But is it honourable, is itmanly, to take advantage of their weakness? I never thought you were thatsort. I thought you were at least honest. "

"Did you?" said Piers. 

He was holding himself very straight and stiff, just as he had heldhimself on that day in the winter when she had so indignantly intervenedto save his dog from his ungovernable fury. But he did not seem to resenther attack, and in spite of herself Avery's own resentment began to wane. She suddenly remembered that her very protest was an admission ofintimacy of which he would not scruple to avail himself if it suited hispurpose, and with this thought in her mind she paused in confusion. 

"Won't you finish?" said Piers. 

She turned to leave him. "That's all I have to say. "

He put out a restraining hand. "Then may I say something?"

The request was so humbly uttered that she could not refuse it. Sheremained where she was. 

"I should like you to know, " said Piers, "that I have never givenMiss Rose or any other girl with whom I have flirted the faintestshadow of a reason for believing that I was in earnest. That is thetruth--on my honour. "

"I wonder if--they--would say the same, " said Avery. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "No one ever before accused me of being alady-killer. As to your other charge against me, it was not I whodeceived my grandfather. It was he who deceived himself. "

"Isn't that a distinction without a difference?" said Avery, in alow voice. 

She was beginning to wish that she had not spoken with such vehemence. After all, what were his delinquencies to her? She almost expected him toask the question; but he did not. 

"Do you mind explaining?" he said. 

With an effort she made response. "You can't say it was honourable to letyour grandfather come home in the belief that you wanted to becomeengaged to Miss Rose. "

"Have I said so?" said Piers. 

Avery paused. She had a sudden feeling of uncertainty as if he had kickedaway a foothold upon which she had rashly attempted to rest. 

"You admit that it was not?" she said. 

He smiled a little. "I admit that it was not strictly honest, but Ididn't see much harm in it. In any case it was high time we came home, and it gave him the impetus to move. "

"And when are you going to tell him the truth?" said Avery. 

Piers was silent. 

Looking at him through the dusk, she was aware of a change in hisdemeanour, though as to its nature she was slightly doubtful. 

"And if I don't tell him?" said Piers at length. 

"You will, " she said quickly. 

"I don't know why I should. " Piers' voice was dogged. "He'll know fastenough--when she gets engaged to Guyes. "

"Know that you have played a double game, " said Avery. 

"Well?" he said. "And if he does?"

"I think you will be sorry--then, " she said. 

Somehow she could not be angry any longer. He had accepted her rebuke inso docile a spirit. She did not wholly understand his attitude. Yet itsoftened her. 

"Why should I be sorry?" said Piers. 

She answered him quickly and impulsively. "Because it isn't your natureto deceive. You are too honest at heart to do it and be happy. "

"Happy!" said Piers, an odd note of emotion in his voice. "Do you supposeI'm ever that--or ever likely to be?"

She recoiled a little from the suppressed vehemence of his tone, butalmost instantly he put out his hand again to her with a gesture ofboyish persuasion. 

"Don't rag me, Avery! I've had a filthy time lately. And when I saw youcut and run at sight of me--I just couldn't stand it. I've been wantingto answer your letter, but I couldn't. "

"But why should you?" Avery broke in gently. "My letter was the answerto yours. "

She gave him her hand, because she could not help it. 

He held it in a hungry clasp. "I know--I know, " he said ratherincoherently. "It--it was very decent of you not to be angry. I believe Ilet myself go rather--what? Thanks awfully for being so sweet about it!"

"My dear boy, " Avery said, "you thank me for nothing! The matter is past. Don't let us re-open it!"

She spoke with unconscious appeal. His hand squeezed hers in instantresponse. "All right. We won't. And look here, --if you want me to tell mygrandfather that he has been building his castle in the air, --it'll meana row of course, but--I'll do it. "

"Will you?" said Avery. 

He nodded. "Yes--as you wish it. And may I come to tea with Jeanieto-morrow?"

His dark eyes smiled suddenly into hers as he dropped her hand. She had amomentary feeling of uncertainty as she met them--a sense of doubt thatdisquieted her strangely. It was as if he had softly closed a dooragainst her somewhere in his soul. 

With a curious embarrassment she answered him. "Jeanie has not been wellall the winter. Dr. Tudor has ordered a change, and we are going--she andI--to Stanbury Cliffs to-morrow. "

"Are you though?" He opened his eyes. "Just you and she, eh? What acosy party!"

"The other children will probably join us for the Easter holidays, " Averysaid. "It's a nice place, they say. Do you know it?"

"I should think I do. Victor and I used to go there regularly when I wasa kid. It was there I learnt to swim. "

"Who is Victor?" asked Avery, beginning to walk on up the hill. 

"Victor? Oh, he's my French nurse--the best chap who ever walked. We aregreat pals, " laughed Piers. "And so you're off to-morrow, are you? Hopeyou'll have a good time. Give my love to the kiddie! She isn't reallyill, what?"

"Dr. Tudor is not satisfied about her, " Avery said. 

"Oh, Tudor!" Piers spoke with instant disparagement. "I don't supposehe's any good. What does he say anyway?"

"He is afraid of lung trouble, " Avery said. "But we hope the change isgoing to do wonders for her. Do you know, I think I must run in now? Ihave several little jobs still to get through this evening. "

Piers stopped at once. "Good-bye!" he said. "I'm glad I saw you. Takecare of yourself, Avery! And the next time you see me coming--don'trun away!"

He set his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle. Pompey immediately began to execute an elaborate dance in the roadway, rendering further conversation out of the question. Piers waved his capin careless adieu, and turned the animal round. In another moment he wastearing down the lane at a gallop, and Avery was left looking after himstill with that curious sense of doubt lying cold at her heart. 

The sight of a black, clerical figure emerging from the churchyard causedher to turn swiftly and pursue her way to the Vicarage gate. But thesounds of those galloping hoofs still wrought within her as she went. They beat upon her spirit with a sense of swift-moving Destiny. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE EVESHAM DEVIL

"Confound the boy!" said Sir Beverley. 

He rose up from the black oak settle in the hall with a jerky movement ofirritation, and tramped to the front-door. 

It had been one of those strange soft days that sometimes come in themidst of blustering March storms, and though the sun had long gone downthe warmth still lingered. It might have been an evening in May. 

He opened the great door with an impatient hand. What on earth was theboy doing? Had he gone love-making to Wardenhurst? A grim smile touchedthe old man's grim lips as this thought occurred to him. That he was notwasting his time nearer home he was fairly convinced; for only thatmorning he had heard from Lennox Tudor that the mother's help at theVicarage, over whom in the winter Piers had been inclined to make a foolof himself, had taken one of the children away for a change. It seemedmore than probable by this time that Piers' wandering fancy had whollyceased to stray in her direction, but the news of her absence had causedSir Beverley undoubted satisfaction. He hoped his boy would not encounterthat impertinent, scheming woman again until he was safely engaged to InaRose. That this engagement was imminent Sir Beverley was fully convinced. His only wonder was that it had not taken place sooner. The two had beenthrown together almost daily during the sojourn of Colonel Rose and hisdaughter at Mentone, and they had always seemed to enjoy each other'ssociety. Of course Sir Beverley did not like the girl. He activelydisliked the whole female species. But she belonged to the county, andshe seemed moreover to be a normal healthy young woman who would be themother of normal healthy children. And this was the sort of wife Pierswanted. For Piers--drat the boy!--was not normal. He inherited a gooddeal of his Italian grandmother's temperament as well as her beauty. Andlife was not likely to be a very easy matter for him in consequence. 

But an ordinary young English wife of his own rank would be a step inthe right direction. So reasoned Sir Beverley, who had taken that fatalstep in the wrong one in his youth and had never recovered the groundthus lost. 

Standing there at the open door, he dwelt upon his boy's future with akind of grim pleasure that was not unmixed with heartache. He and hiswife would have to go and live at the Dower House of course. No femininetruck at the Abbey for him! But the lad should continue to manage theestate with him. That would bring them in contact every day. He couldn'tdo without that much. The evenings would be lonely enough. He picturedthe long silent dinners with a weary frown. How infernally lonely theAbbey could be!

The steady tick of the clock in the corner forced itself upon his notice. He swore at it under his breath, and went out upon the steps. 

At the same instant a view-halloo from the dark avenue greeted him, andin spite of himself his face softened. 

"Hullo, you rascal!" he shouted back. "What the devil are you up to?"

Piers came running up, light-footed and alert. "I've been unlucky, "he explained. "Had two punctures. I left the car at the garage andcame on as quickly as I could. I say, I'm awfully sorry. I've beenwith Dick Guyes. "

Sir Beverley growled inarticulately, and turned inwards. So he had notbeen to the Roses' after all!

"Get along with you!" he said. "And dress as fast as you can!"

And Piers bounded past him and went up the stairs in three great leaps. He seemed to have grown younger during the few days that had elapsedsince their return, more ardent, more keenly alive. The English springseemed to exhilarate him; but for the first time Sir Beverley began tohave his doubts as to the reason for his evident pleasure in returning. What on earth had he been to see Guyes for? Guyes of all people--who waswell-known as one of Miss Ina's most devoted adorers!

It was evident that the news he desired to hear would not be imparted tohim that night, and Sir Beverley considered himself somewhat aggrieved inconsequence. He was decidedly short with Piers when he reappeared--a factwhich in no way disturbed his grandson's equanimity. He talked cheerycommonplaces throughout dinner without effort, regardless of SirBeverley's discouraging attitude, and it was not till dessert was placedupon the table that he allowed his conversational energies to flag. 

Then indeed, as David finally and ceremoniously withdrew, did he suddenlyseem to awake to the fact that conversation was no longer a vitalnecessity, and forthwith dropped into an abrupt, uncompromising silence. 

It lasted for a space of minutes during which neither of them stirred oruttered a syllable, becoming at length ominous as the electric stillnessbefore the storm. 

They came through it characteristically, Sir Beverley staring fixedlybefore him under the frown that was seldom wholly absent from his face;Piers, steady-eyed and intent, keenly watching the futile agonies of anight-moth among the candles. There was about him a massive, statuesquelook in vivid contrast to the pulsing vitality of a few minutes before. 

It was Sir Beverley who broke the silence at last with a species ofinarticulate snarl peculiarly his own. Piers' dark eyes were instantlyupon him, but he said nothing, merely waiting for the words to which thissound was the preface. 

Sir Beverley's brow was thunderous. He looked back at Piers with apiercing grim regard. 

"Well?" he said. "What fool idea have you got in your brain now? Isuppose I've got to hear it sooner or later. "

It was not a conciliatory speech, yet Piers received it with no visibleresentment. "I don't know that I want to say anything very special, " hesaid, after a moment's thought. 

"Oh, don't you?" growled Sir Beverley. "Then what are you thinking about?Tell me that!"

Piers leaned back in his chair. "I was thinking about Dick Guyes, " hesaid. "He is dining at the Roses' to-night. "

"Oh!" said Sir Beverley shortly. 

A faint smile came at the corners of Piers' mouth. "He wants to proposeto Ina for about the hundred and ninetieth time, " he said, "but doesn'tknow if he can screw himself up to it. I told him not to be such a shyass. She is only waiting for him to speak. "

"Eh?" said Sir Beverley. 

A queer little dancing gleam leaped up in Piers' eyes--the gleam thathad invariably heralded some piece of especial devilry in the days ofhis boyhood. 

"I told him she was his for the asking, sir, " he said coolly, "andpromised not to flirt with her any more till they were safely married. "

"Damn you!" exclaimed Sir Beverley violently and without warning. 

He had a glass of wine in front of him, and with the words his fingersgripped the stem. In another second he would have hurled the liquid fullin Piers' face; but Piers was too quick for him. Quick as lightning, hisown hand shot out across the corner of the table and grasped the oldman's wrist. 

"No, sir! No!" he said sternly. 

They glared into each other's eyes, and Sir Beverley uttered afurious oath; but after the first instinctive effort to free himselfhe did no more. 

At the end of possibly thirty seconds Piers took his hand away. He pushedback his chair in the same movement and rose. 

"Shall we talk in the library?" he said. "This room is hot. "

Sir Beverley raised the wine-glass to his lips with a hand that shook, and drained it deliberately. 

"Yes, " he said then, "We will--talk in the library. "

He got up with an agility that he seldom displayed, and turned to thedoor. As he went he glanced up suddenly at the softly mocking face on thewall, and a sharp spasm contracted his harsh features. But he scarcelypaused. Without further words he left the room; and Piers followed, lightof tread, behind him. 

The study windows stood wide open to the night. Piers crossed the roomand quietly closed them. Then, without haste and without hesitation, hecame to the table and stopped before it. 

"I never intended to marry Ina Rose, " he said. "I was only amusingmyself--and her. "

"The devil you were!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. 

Piers went on with the utmost steadiness. "We are not in the leastsuited to one another, and we have the sense to realize it. The next timeGuyes asks her, I believe she will have him. "

"Sense!" roared Sir Beverley. "Do you dare to talk to me of sense, you--you blind fool? Mighty lot of sense you can boast of! And what thedevil does it matter whether you suit one another--as you call it--ornot, so long as you keep the whip-hand? You'll tell me next that you'renot--in love with her, I suppose?"

The bitterness of the last words seemed to shake him from head to foot. He looked at Piers with the memory of a past torment in his eyes. Andbecause of it Piers turned away his own. 

"It's quite true, sir, " he said, in a low voice. "I am not--in love withher. I never have been. "

Sir Beverley's fist crashed down upon the table. "Love!" he thundered. "Love! Do you want to make me sick? I tell you, sir, I would sooner seeyou in your coffin than married to a woman with whom you imaginedyourself in love. Oh, I know what you have in your mind. I've known for along time. You're caught in the toils of that stiff-necked, scheming Judyat the Vicarage, who--"

"Sir!" blazed forth Piers. 

He leaned across the table with a face gone suddenly white, and struckhis own fist upon the polished oak with a passionate force that compelledattention. 

Sir Beverley ceased his tirade in momentary astonishment. Such violencefrom Piers was unusual. 

Instantly Piers went on speaking, his voice quick and low, quivering withthe agitation that he had no time to subdue. "I won't hear another wordon that subject! You hear me, sir? Not one word! It is sacred, and assuch I will have it treated. "

But the check upon Sir Beverley was but brief, and the flame of hisanger burned all the more fiercely in consequence of it. He broke in uponthose few desperate words of Piers' with redoubled fury. 

"You will have this, and you won't have that! Confound you! What thedevil do you mean? Are you master in this house, or am I?"

"I am master where my own actions are concerned, " threw back Piers. "Andwhat I do--what I decide to do--is my affair alone. "

Swiftly he uttered the words. His breathing came quick and short as thebreathing of a man hard pressed. He seemed to be holding back everystraining nerve with a blind force that was physical rather than mental. 

He drew himself suddenly erect as he spoke. He had flung down thegauntlet of his independence at last, and with clenched hands he waitedfor the answer to his challenge. 

It came upon him like a whirlwind. Sir Beverley uttered an oath that fellwith the violence of a blow, and after it a tornado of furious speechagainst which it was futile to attempt to raise any protest. He couldonly stand as it were at bay, like an animal protecting its own, fiery-veined, quivering, yet holding back from the spring. 

Not for any insult to himself would he quit that attitude. He wasstriving desperately to keep his self-control. He had been within an aceof losing it, as the blood that oozed over his closed fist testified;but, for the sake of that manhood which he was seeking to assert, he madea Titanic effort to command himself. 

And Sir Beverley, feeling the dumb strength that opposed him, resentingthe forbearance with which he was confronted, infuriated by theunexpected force of the boy's resistance, turned with a snarl to seizeand desecrate that which he had been warned was holy. 

"As for this designing woman, I tell you, she is not for you, --not, thatis, in any honourable sense. If you choose to make a fool of her, that'syour affair. I suppose you'll sow the usual crop of wild oats beforeyou've done. But as to marrying her--"

"By God, sir!" broke in Piers passionately. "Do you imagine that Ipropose to do anything else?"

The words came from him like a cry wrung from a man in torture, and as heuttered them the last of his self-control slipped from his grasp. With aface gone suddenly devilish, he strode round the table and stood beforehis grandfather, furiously threatening. 

"I have warned you!" he said, and his voice was low, sunk almost to awhisper. "You can say what you like of me. I'm used to it. But--if youspeak evil of her--I'll treat you as I would any other blackguard whodared to insult her. And now that we are on the subject, I will tell youthis. If I do not marry this woman whom I love--I swear that I willnever marry at all! That is my final word!"

He hurled the last sentence in Sir Beverley's face, and with it he wouldhave swung round upon his heel; but something in that face detained him. 

Sir Beverley's eyes were shining with an icy, intolerable sparkle. Histhin lips were drawn in the dreadful semblance of a smile. He washalf-a-head taller than Piers, and he seemed to tower above him in thatmoment of conflict. 

"Wait a minute!" he said. "Wait a minute!"

His right hand was feeling along the leathern surface of thewriting-table, but neither his eyes nor Piers' followed the movement. They held each other in a fixed, unalterable glare. 

There followed several moments of complete and terrible silence--asilence more fraught with violence than any speech. 

Then, with a slight jerk, Sir Beverley leaned towards Piers. "So, " hesaid, "you defy me, do you?"

His voice was as grim as his look. A sudden, odd sense of fear wentthrough Piers. Sharply the thought ran through his mind that the sameEvesham devil possessed them both. It was as if he had caught a glimpseof the monster gibing at his elbow, goading him, goading them, both. 

He made a sharp, involuntary movement; he almost flinched from thosepitiless, stony eyes. 

"Ha!" Sir Beverley uttered a brief and very bitter laugh. "You've begunto think better of it, eh?"

"No, sir. " Curtly Piers made answer, speaking because he must. "I meantwhat I said, and I shall stick to it. But it wasn't for the sake ofdefying you that I said it. I have a better reason than that. "

He was still quivering with anger, yet because of that gibing devil athis elbow he strove to speak temperately, strove to hold back the ragingflood of fierce resentment that threatened to overwhelm him. 

As for Sir Beverley, he had never attempted to control himself in momentssuch as these, and he did not attempt to do so now. Before Piers' wordswere fairly uttered, he had raised his right hand and in it a stout, two-foot ruler that he had taken from the writing-table. 

"Take that then, you young dog!" he shouted, and struck Piers furiously, as he stood. "And that! And that!"

The third blow never fell. It was caught in mid-air by Piers who, witheyes that literally flamed in his white face, sprang straight at hisgrandfather, and closed with him. 

There was a brief--a very brief--struggle, then a gasping oath from SirBeverley as the ruler was torn from his grasp. The next moment he wasfree and tottering blindly. Piers, with an awful smile, swung the weaponback as if he would strike him down with it. Then, as Sir Beverleyclutched instinctively at the nearest chair for support, he flungsavagely round on his heel, altering his purpose. There followed the loudcrack of rending wood as he broke the ruler passionately across his knee, putting forth all his strength, and the clatter of the falling fragmentsas he hurled them violently from him. 

And then in a silence more dreadful than any speech, he strode to thedoor and went out, crashing it furiously shut behind him. 

Sir Beverley, grown piteously feeble, sank down in the chair, andremained there huddled and gasping for many dragging minutes. 

CHAPTER XXIX

A WATCH IN THE NIGHT

He came at last out of what had almost been a stupor of inertia, satslowly up, turned his brooding eyes upon the door through which Piers hadpassed. A tremor of anger crossed his face, and was gone. A grim smiletook its place. He still panted spasmodically; but he found his voice. 

"Egad!" he said. "The fellow's as strong as a young bear. He'shugged--all the wind--out of my vitals. "

He struggled to his feet, straightening his knees with difficulty, onehand pressed hard to his labouring heart. 

"Egad!" he gasped again. "He's getting out of hand--the cub! But he'llcome to heel, --he'll come to heel! I know the rascal!"

He stumbled to the bell and rang it. 

David appeared with a promptitude that seemed to indicate a certainuneasiness. 

"Coffee!" growled his master. "And liqueur!"

David departed at as high a rate of speed as decorum would permit. 

During his absence Sir Beverley set himself rigidly to recover his normaldemeanour. The encounter had shaken him, shaken him badly; but he was notthe man to yield to physical weakness. He fought it with angrydetermination. 

Before David's reappearance he had succeeded in controlling his gaspingbreath, though the hand with which he helped himself shook veryperceptibly. 

There were two cups on the tray. David lingered. 

"You can go, " said Sir Beverley. 

David cocked one eyebrow in deferential enquiry. "Master Piers in thegarden, sir?" he ventured. "Shall I find him?"

"No!" snapped Sir Beverley. 

"Very good, sir. " David turned regretfully to the door. "Shall I keep thecoffee hot, Sir Beverley?" he asked, as he reached it, with what wasalmost a pleading note in his voice. 

Sir Beverley's frown became as menacing as a thunder-cloud. "No!"he shouted. 

David nodded in melancholy submission and withdrew. 

Sir Beverley sat down heavily in his chair and slowly drank his coffee. Finally he put aside the empty cup and sat staring at the closed door, his brows drawn heavily together. 

How had the young beggar dared to defy him so? He must have been gettingout of hand for some time by imperceptible degrees. He had always vowedto himself that he would not spoil the boy. Had that resolution of hisbecome gradually relaxed? His frown grew heavier. He had never beforecontemplated the possibility that Piers might some day become anindividual force utterly beyond his control. 

His eye fell upon a fragment of the broken ruler lying under the tableand again grimly he smiled. 

"Confound the scamp! He's got some muscle, " he murmured. 

Again his look went to the door. Why didn't the young fool come back andapologize? How much longer did he mean to keep him waiting?

The minutes dragged away, and the silence of emptiness gathered andbrooded in the great room and about the master of the house who satwithin it, with bent head, waiting. 

It was close upon ten o'clock when at length he rose and irritablyrang the bell. 

"See if you can find Master Piers!" he said to David. "He can't be faraway. Look in the drawing-room! Look in the garden! Tell him I want him!"

David withdrew upon the errand, and again the oppressive silence drewclose. For a long interval Sir Beverley sat quite motionless, stillstaring at the door as though he expected Piers to enter at any moment. But when at length it opened, it was only to admit David once more. 

"I'm sorry to say I can't find Master Piers anywhere in the house orgarden, Sir Beverley, " he said, looking straight before him and blinkingvacantly at the lamp. "I'm inclined to believe, sir, that he must havegone into the park. "

Sir Beverley snarled inarticulately and dismissed him. 

During the hour that followed, he did not move from his chair, andscarcely changed his position. But at last, as the stable-clock wastolling eleven, he rose stiffly and walked to the window. It wasfastened; he dragged at the catch with impatient fingers. 

His face was haggard and grey as he finally thrust up the sash, andleaned out with his hands on the sill. 

The night was very still all about him. It might have been a night inJune. Only very far away a faint breeze was stirring, whisperingfurtively in the bare boughs of the elm trees that bordered the park. Overhead the stars shone dimly behind a floating veil of mist, andfrom the garden sleeping at his feet there arose a faint, fugitivescent of violets. 

The old man's face contracted as at some sudden sense of pain as thatscent reached his nostrils. His mouth twitched with a curious tremor, and he covered it with his hand as though he feared some silentwatcher in that sleeping world might see and mock his weakness. Thatviolet-bed beneath the window had been planted fifty years before atthe whim of a woman. 

"We must have a great many violets, " she had said. "They are sweeter thanall the roses in the world. Next year I must have handfuls and handfulsof sweetness. "

And the next year the violets had bloomed in the chosen corner, but herhands had not gathered them. And they had offered their magic ever since, year after year--even as they offered it tonight--to a heart that was tooold and too broken to care. 

Fifty years before, Sir Beverley had stood at that same window waitingand listening in the spring twilight for the beloved footfall of thewoman who was never again to enter his house. They had had adisagreement, he had spoken harshly, he had been foolishly, absurdlyjealous; for her wonderful beauty, her quick, foreign charm drew all theworld. But, returning from a long ride that had lasted all day, he hadentered with the desire to make amends, to win her sweet and graciousforgiveness. She had forgiven him before. She had laughed with a sweet, elusive mockery and passed the matter by as of no importance. It hadseemed a foregone conclusion that she would forgive him again, wouldreassure him, and set his mind at rest. But he had come back to an emptyhouse--every door gaping wide and the beloved presence gone. 

So he had waited for her, expecting her every moment, refusing to believethe truth that nevertheless had forced itself upon him at the last. Sonow he waited for her grandson--the boy with her beauty, her quick andgenerous charm, her passionate, emotional nature--to come back to him. And yet again he waited in vain. 

Piers had gone forth in fierce anger, driven by that devil that haddescended to him through generations of stiff-necked ancestors; and forthe first time in all his hot young life he had not returned repentant. 

"I treated him like a dog, egad, " murmured Sir Beverley into theshielding hand. "But he'll come back. He always comes back, the scamp. "

But the minutes crawled by, the night-wind rustled and passed; and stillPiers did not come. 

It was hard on midnight when Sir Beverley suddenly raised both hands tohis mouth and sent a shrill, peculiar whistle through them across thequiet garden. It had been his special call for Piers in his childhood. Even as he sent it out into the darkness, he seemed to see the sturdy, eager little figure that had never failed to answer that summons withdelight racing headlong towards him over the dim, dewy lawn. 

But to-night it brought no answer though he repeated it again and yetagain; and as twelve o'clock struck heavily upon the stillness he turnedfrom the window and groaned aloud. The boy had gone, gone for good, as hemight have known he would go. He had driven him forth with blows andbitter words, and it was out of his power to bring him back again. 

Slowly he crossed the room and rang the bell. He was very cold, and heshivered as he moved. 

It was Victor who answered the summons, Victor with round, vindictiveeyes that openly accused him for a moment, and then softened inexplicablyand looked elsewhere. 

"You ask me for _Monsieur Pierre_?" he said, spreading out his hands, "_Mais--_"

"I didn't ask for anything, " growled Sir Beverley. "I rang the bell totell you and all the other fools to lock up and go to bed. "

"But--me!" ejaculated Victor, rolling his eyes upwards in astonishment. 

"Yes, you! Where's the sense of your sitting up? Master Piers knows howto undress himself by this time, I suppose?"

Sir Beverley scowled at him aggressively, but Victor did not even see thescowl. Like a hen with one chick, and that gone astray, he could think ofnaught beside. 

"_Mais Monsieur Pierre_ is not here! Where then is _Monsieur Pierre?_" hequestioned in distress. 

"How the devil should I know?" snarled Sir Beverley. "Stop your chatterand be off with you! Shut the window first, and then go and tell David tolock up! I shan't want anything more to-night. "

Victor shrugged his shoulders in mute protest, and went to the window. Here he paused, looking forth with eyes of eager searching till recalledto his duty by a growl of impatience from his master. Then with acelerity remarkable in one of his years and rotundity, he quickly poppedin his head and closed the window. 

"Leave the blind!" ordered Sir Beverley. "And the catch too! There! Nowgo! _Allez-vous-en!_? Don't let me see you again to-night!"

Victor threw a single shrewd glance at the drawn face, and trotted with awoman's nimbleness to the door. Here he paused, executed a stiff bow;then wheeled and departed. The door closed noiselessly behind him, andagain Sir Beverley was left alone. 

He dragged a chair to the window, and sat down to watch. 

Doubtless the boy would return when he had walked off his indignation. Hewould be sure to see the light in the study, and he would come to him foradmittance. He himself would receive him with a gruff word or two ofadmonition and the whole affair should be dismissed. Grimly he picturedthe scene to himself as, ignoring the anxiety that was growing withinhim, he settled himself to his lonely vigil. 

Slowly the night dragged on. A couple of owls were hooting to one anotheracross the garden, and far away a dog barked at intervals. Old SirBeverley never stirred in his chair. His limbs were rigid, his eyes fixedand watchful. But his face was grey--grey and stricken and incrediblyold. He had the look of a man who carried a burden too heavy to be borne. 

One after another he heard the hours strike, but his position neveraltered, his eyes never varied, his face remained as though carved ingranite--a graven image of despair. Unspeakable weariness was in hispose, and yet he did not relax or yield a hair's breadth to the body'simportunity. He suffered too bitterly in the spirit that night to beaware of physical necessity. 

Slowly the long hours passed. The night began to wane. A faint greyglimmer, scarcely perceptible, came down from a mist-veiled sky. The windthat had sunk to stillness came softly back and wandered to and fro asthough to rouse the sleeping world. Behind the mist the stars went out, and from the rookery in the park a hoarse voice suddenly proclaimed thecoming day. 

The grey light grew. In the garden ghostly shapes arose, phantoms of thedawn that gradually resolved into familiar forms of tree and shrub. Fromthe rookery there swelled a din of many raucous voices. The dog in thedistance began to bark again with feverish zest, and from the stablescame Caesar's cheery answering yell. 

The mist drifted away from the face of the sky. A brightness was growingthere. Stiffly, painfully, Sir Beverley struggled up from his chair, stood steadying himself--a figure tragic and forlorn--with his handsagainst the wood of the window-frame, then with a groaning effort thrustup the sash. 

Violets! Violets! The haunting scent of them rose to greet him. The airwas full of their magic fragrance. For a second he was aware of it; healmost winced. And then in a moment he had forgotten. He stood theremotionless--a desolate old man, bowed and shrunken and grey--staringblindly out before him, unconscious of all things save the despair thathad settled in his heart. 

The night had passed and his boy had not returned. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE CONFLICT

Stanbury Cliffs was no more than a little fishing-town at the foot of thesandy cliff--a sheltered nest of a place in which the sound of the waveswas heard all day long, but which no bitter wind could reach. The peaceof it was balm to Avery's spirit. She revelled in its quiet. 

Jeanie loved it too. She delighted in the freedom and the warmth, andalmost from the day of their arrival her health began to improve. 

They had their quarters in what was little more than a two-storeycottage belonging to one of the fishermen, and there was only a tinygarden bright with marigolds between them and the shore. Day after daythey went through the little wicket gate down a slope of loose sand tothe golden beach where they spent the sunny hours in perfect happiness. The waves that came into the bay were never very rough, though theysometimes heard them raging outside with a fury that filled the wholeworld with its roaring. Jeanie called it "the desired haven, " andconfided to Avery that she was happier than she had ever been in herlife before. 

Avery was happy too, but with a difference; for she knew in her secretheart that the days of her tranquillity were numbered. She knew with awoman's sure instinct that the interval of peace would be but brief, that with or without her will she must soon be drawn back again intothe storm and stress of life. And knowing it, she waited, strengtheningher defences day by day, counting each day as a respite while shedevoted herself to the child and rejoiced to see the change so quicklywrought in her. Tudor's simile of the building of a sea-wall oftenrecurred to her. She told herself that the foundation thereof should beas secure as human care could make it, so that when the tide came backit should stand the strain. 

The Vicar would have been shocked beyond words by the life of completeindulgence led by his small daughter. She breakfasted in bed every day, served by Avery who was firm as to the amount of nourishment taken butcomfortably lax on all other points. When the meal was over, Averygenerally went marketing while Jeanie dressed, and they then went to theshore. If there were no marketing to be done, Avery would go down to thebeach alone and wait for her there. There was a sheltered corner thatthey both loved where, protected by towering rocks, they spent many ahappy hour. It was just out of reach of the sea, exposed to the sun andsheltered from the wind--an ideal spot; and here they brought letters, books, or needlework, and were busy or idle according to their moods. 

Jeanie was often idle. She used to lie in the soft sand and dream, withher eyes on the far horizon; but of what she dreamed she said no wordeven to Avery. But she was always happy. Her smile was always ready, thelines of her mouth were always set in perfect content. She seemed to haveall she desired at all times. They did not often stray from the shore, for she was easily tired; but they used to roam along it and search thecrevices of the scattered rocks which held all manner of treasures. Theyspent the time in complete accord. It was too good to last, Avery toldherself. The way had become too easy. 

It was on a morning about a week after their arrival that she went downat an early hour to their favourite haunt. There had been rain in thenight, and a brisk west wind was blowing; but she knew that in thatsheltered spot they would be protected, and Jeanie was pledged to joinher there as soon as she was ready. The tide was coming in, and the sunshone amidst scudding white clouds. It was a morning on which to be happyfor no other reason than lightness of heart; and Avery, with her work-bagon her arm, sang softly to herself as she went. 

As usual she met no one. It was a secluded part of the shore. The littletown was out of sight on the other side of a rocky promontory, and theplace was lonely to desolation. 

But Avery did not feel the loneliness. She had had a letter only thatmorning from Crowther, the friend of those far-off Australian days, andhe expressed a hope of being able to pay her a flying visit at StanburyCliffs before settling down to work in grim earnest for theaccomplishment of his life's desire. She would have welcomed EdmundCrowther at any time. He was the sort of friend whose coming could neverbring anything but delight. 

She wondered as she walked along which day he would choose. She wasrather glad that he had not fixed a definite date. It was good to feelthat any day might bring him. 

Nearing her destination she became aware of light feet running on thefirm sand behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, but the sun shonefull in her eyes, and she only managed to discern vaguely a man's figuredrawing near. He could not be pursuing her, she decided, and resumed herwalk and her thoughts of Crowther--the friend who had stood by her at atime when she had been practically friendless. 

But the running feet came nearer and nearer. She suddenly realized thatthey meant to overtake her, and with the knowledge the old quick dreadpierced her heart. She wheeled abruptly round and stood still. 

He was there, not a dozen yards from her. He hailed her as she turned. 

She clenched her hands with sudden determination and went to meet him. 

"Piers!" she said, and in her voice reproach and severity wereoddly mingled. 

But Piers was unabashed. He ran swiftly up to her, and caught herhands into his with an impetuous rush of words. "Here you are at last!I've been waiting for you for hours. But I was in the water when youfirst appeared, and I hadn't any towels, or I should have caught youup before. "

He was laughing as he spoke, but it seemed to Avery that there wassomething not quite normal about him. His black hair lay in a wet plasteron his forehead, and below it his eyes glittered oddly, as if he wereputting some force upon himself. 

"How in the world did you get here?" she said. 

He laughed again between his teeth. "I tell you, I've been here forhours. I came last night. But I couldn't knock you up at two in themorning. So I had to wait. How are you and Jeanie getting on?"

Avery gravely withdrew her hands, and turned to pursue her way towardsher rocky resting-place. "Jeanie is better, " she said, in a voice thatdid not encourage any further solicitude on either Jeanie's behalf orher own. 

Piers marched beside her, a certain doggedness in his gait. The laughterhad died out of his face. He looked pale and stern, and fully asdetermined as she. 

"Why didn't you tell us to expect you?" Avery asked at last. 

"Were you not expecting me?" he returned, and his voice had the sharpnessof a challenge. 

She looked at him steadily for a moment or two, meeting eyes that flungback her scrutiny with grim defiance. 

"Of course I was not expecting you, " she said. 

"And yet you were not--altogether--surprised to see me, " he rejoined, afaint jeering echo in his voice. 

Avery walked on till she reached her sheltered corner. Then she laid herwork-bag down in the accustomed place, and very resolutely turned andfaced him. 

"Tell me why you have come!" she said. 

He gazed at her for a moment fiercely from under his black brows; thensuddenly and disconcertingly he seized her by the wrists. 

"I'll tell you, " he said, speaking rapidly, with feverish utterance. "I've come because--before Heaven--I can't keep away. Avery, listen tome! Yes, you must listen. I've come because I must, because you are allthe world to me and I want you unutterably. I don't believe--I can'tbelieve--that I am nothing to you. You can't with honesty tell me so. Ilove you with all my soul, with all there is of me, good and bad. Avery--Avery, say you love me too!"

Just for an instant the arrogance went out of his voice, and it sank topleading. But Avery stood mute before him, very pale, desperately calm. She made not the faintest attempt to free herself, but her hands werehard clenched. There was nothing passive in her attitude. 

He was aware of strong resistance, but it only goaded him to furthereffort. He lifted the clenched hands and held them tight against hisheart. 

"You needn't try to cast me off, " he said, "for I simply won't go. I knowyou care. You wouldn't have taken the trouble to write that letter if youdidn't. And so listen! I've come now to marry you. We can go up to townto-day, --Jeanie too, if you like. And to-morrow--to-morrow we will bemarried by special licence. I've thought it all out. You can't refuse. Ihave money of my own--plenty of money. And you belong to me already. It's no good trying to deny it any more. You are my mate--my mate; and Iwon't try to live without you any longer!"

Wildly the words rushed out, spending themselves as it were upon uttersilence. Avery's hands were no longer clenched. They lay open against hisbreast, and the mad beating of his heart thrilled through and through heras she stood. 

He bent towards her eagerly, passionately. His hands reached out to claspher; yet he paused. "Avery! Avery!" he whispered very urgently. 

Her eyes were raised to his, grey and steady and fearless. Not by thesmallest gesture did she seek to escape him. She suffered the hands uponher shoulders. She suffered the fiery passion of his gaze. 

Only at last very clearly, very resolutely, she spoke. "Piers--no!"

His face was close to hers, glowing and vital and tensely determined. "Isay 'Yes, '" he said, with brief decision. 

Avery was silent. His hands were drawing her, and still she did notresist; but in those moments of silent inactivity she was stronger thanhe. Her personality was at grips with his, and if she gained no ground atleast she held her own. 

"Avery!" he said suddenly and sharply. "What's the matter with you? Whydon't you speak?"

"I am waiting, " she said. 

"Waiting!" he echoed. "Waiting for what?"

"Waiting for you to come to yourself, Piers, " she made steadfast answer. 

He laughed at that, a quick, insolent laugh. "Do you think I don't knowwhat I'm doing, then?"

"I am quite sure, " she answered, "that when you know, you will be moreashamed than any honourable man should ever have reason to be. "

He winced at the words. She saw the hot blood surge in a great wave tohis forehead, and she quailed inwardly though outwardly she made no sign. His grip was growing every instant more compelling. She knew that he wasbracing himself for one great effort that should batter down the strengththat withstood him. His lips were so close to hers that she could feelhis breath, quick and hot, upon her face. And still she made no strugglefor freedom, knowing instinctively that the instant her self-controlyielded, the battle was lost. 

Slowly the burning flush died away under her eyes. His face changed, grewsubtly harder, less passionate. "So, " he said, with an odd quietness, "I'm not to kiss you. It would be dishonourable, what?"

She made unflinching reply. "It would be despicable and you know it--tokiss any woman against her will. "

"Would it be against your will?" he asked. 

"Yes, it would. " Firmly she answered him, yet a quiver of agitation wentthrough her. She felt her resolution begin to waver. 

But in that moment something in Piers seemed to give way also. He criedout to her as if in sudden, intolerable pain. "Avery! Avery! Are you madeof stone? Can't you see that this is life or death to me?"

She answered him instantly; it was almost as if she had been waiting forthat cry of his. "Yes, but you must get the better of it. You can if youwill. It is unworthy of you. You are trying to take what is not yours. You have made a mistake, and you are wronging yourself and me. "

"What?" he exclaimed. "You don't love me then!"

He flung his arms wide upon the words, with a gesture of the most utterdespair, and turned from her. A moment he stood swaying, as if bereft ofall his strength; and then with abrupt effort he began to move away. Hestumbled blindly, heavily, as he went, and the crying of the wheelingsea-gulls came plaintively through a silence that could be felt. 

But ere that silence paralysed her, Avery spoke, raising her voice, forthe urgency was great. 

"Piers, stop!"

He stopped instantly, but he did not turn, merely stood tensely waiting. 

She collected herself and went after him. She laid a hand that trembledon his arm. 

"Don't leave me like this!" she said. 

Slowly he turned his head and looked at her, and the misery of that lookwent straight to her heart. All the woman's compassion in her throbbed upto the surface. She found herself speaking with a tenderness which amoment before no power on earth would have drawn from her. 

"Piers, something is wrong; something has happened. Won't you tell mewhat it is?"

"I can't, " he said. 

His lower lip quivered unexpectedly and she saw his teeth bite savagelyupon it. "I'd better go, " he said. 

But her hand still held his arm. "No; wait!" she said. "You can't go likethis. Piers, what is the matter with you? Tell me!"

He hesitated. She saw that his self-control was tottering. Abruptly atlength he spoke. "I can't. I'm not master of myself. I--I--" He broke offshort and became silent. 

"I knew you weren't, " she said, and then, acting upon an impulse whichshe knew instinctively that she would never regret, she gave him herother hand also. "Let us forget all this!" she said. 

It was generously spoken, so generously that it could not fail to takeeffect. He looked at her in momentary surprise, began to speak, stopped, and with a choked, unintelligible utterance took her two hands with theutmost reverence into his own, and bowed his forehead upon them. Theutter abandonment of the action revealed to her in that moment howcompletely he had made her the dominating influence of his life. 

"Shall we sit down and talk?" she said gently. 

She could not be other than gentle with him. The appeal of hisweakness was greater than any display of strength. She could not butrespond to it. 

He set her free and dropped down heavily upon a rock, leaning his head inhis hands. 

She waited a few moments beside him; then, as he remained silent, shebent towards him. 

"Piers, what is it?"

With a sharp movement he straightened himself, and turned his faceto the sea. 

"I'm a fool, " he said, speaking with an odd, unsteady vehemence. "Factis, I've been out all night on this beastly shore. I've walked miles. AndI suppose I'm tired. "

He made the confession with a shamefaced laugh, still looking away tothe horizon. 

"All night!" Avery repeated in astonishment. "But, Piers!"

He nodded several times, emphatically. "And those infernal sea-birds havebeen squawking along with those thrice-accursed crows ever sinceday-break. I'd like to wring their ugly necks, every jack one of 'em!"

Avery laughed in spite of herself. "We all feel peevish sometimes, " shesaid, as one of the offenders sailed over-head with a melancholy cry. "But haven't you had any breakfast? You must be starving. "

"I am!" said Piers. "I feel like a wolf. But you needn't be afraid to sitdown. I shan't gobble you up this time. "

She heard the boyish appeal in his voice and almost unconsciously sheyielded to it. She sat down on the rock beside him, but he instantlyslipped from it and stretched himself in a dog-like attitude at her feet. 

His chin was propped in his hands, his face turned to the white sand onwhich he lay. She looked down at his black head with more than compassionin her eyes. It was horribly difficult to snub this boy-lover of hers. 

She sat and waited silently for him to speak. 

He dropped one hand at length and began to dig his brown fingers into thepowdery sand with irritable energy; but a minute or more passed beforevery grumpily he spoke. 

"I've had a row with my grandfather. We both of us behaved like wildbeasts. In the end, he thought he was going to give me a caning, and thatwas more than I could stand. I smashed his ruler for him and bolted. Ishould have struck him with it if I hadn't. And after that, I cleared outand came here. And I'm not going back. "

So with blunt defiance he made the announcement, and as he did so, itcame to Avery suddenly and quite convincingly that she had been thecause of the quarrel. A shock of dismay went through her. She had notanticipated this. She felt that the suspicion must be verified orrefuted at once. 

"Piers, " she said quickly, "why did you quarrel with your grandfather?Was it because of your affair with Miss Rose?"

"I never had an affair with Miss Rose, " said Piers rather sullenly. Hedug up a small stone, and flung it with vindictive force at the face ofthe cliff. "Ask her, if you don't believe me!"

He paused a moment, then went on in a dogged note: "I told him--of acertain intention of mine. He tackled me about it first, was absolutelyintolerable. I just couldn't hold myself in. And then somehow we gotviolent. It was his fault. Anyway, he began it. "

"You haven't told me--yet--what you quarrelled about, " said Avery, with asinking heart. 

He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

She made answer with a certain firmness. "Yes, I think it does. "

"Well, then, "--abruptly he raised himself and faced round, his dark eyesraised to hers, --"I told him, Avery, that if I couldn't marry the woman Iloved, I would never marry at all. "

There was no sullenness about him now, only steadfast purpose. He lookedher full in the face as he said it, and she quivered a little before themastery of his look. 

He laid a hand upon her knee as she sat above him in sore perplexity. "Would you have me do anything else?" he said. 

She answered him with a conscious effort. "I want you to love--andmarry--the right woman. "

He uttered a queer, unsteady laugh and leaned his head against her. "Oh, my dear, " he said, "there is no other woman but you in all the world. "

Something fiery that was almost like a dart of pain went through Avery athis words. She moved instinctively, but it was not in shrinking. After amoment she laid her hand upon his. 

"Piers, " she said, "I can't bear hurting you. "

"You wouldn't hurt a fly, " said Piers. 

She smiled faintly. "Not if I could help it. But that doesn't prove thatI am fond of flies. And now, Piers, I am going to ask a very big thing ofyou. I wonder if you will do it. "

"I wonder, " said Piers. 

He had not moved at her touch, yet she felt his fingers close tenselyas they lay upon her knee, and she guessed that he was still striving tocontrol the inner tumult that had so nearly overwhelmed him a fewminutes before. 

"I know it is a big thing, " she said. "Yet--for my sake if you like--Iwant you to do it. "

"I will do anything for your sake, " he made passionate answer. 

"Thank you, " she said gently. "Then, Piers, I want you--please--to goback to Sir Beverley at once, and make it up. "

He withdrew his hand sharply from hers, and sat up, turning his back uponher. "No!" he said harshly. "No!"

"Please, Piers!" she said very earnestly. 

He locked his arms round his knees and sat in silence, staring moodilyout to sea. 

"Please, Piers!" she said again, and lightly touched his shoulder withher fingers. 

He hunched the shoulder away from her with a gesture of boyishimpatience, and then abruptly, as if realizing what he had done, heturned back to her, caught the hand, and pressed it to his lips. 

"I'm a brute, dear. Forgive me! Of course--if you wish it--I'll go back. But as to making it up, well--" he gulped once or twice--"it doesn't restonly with me, you know. "

"Oh, Piers, " she said, "you are all he has. He couldn't be hard to you!"

Piers smiled a wry smile, and said nothing. 

"Besides, " she went on gently, "there is really nothing for you toquarrel about, --that is, if I am the cause of the trouble. It isperfectly natural that your grandfather should wish you to make asuitable marriage, perfectly natural that he should not want you to runafter the wrong woman. You can tell him, Piers, that I absolutely see hispoint of view, but that so far as I am concerned, he need not beanxious. It is not my intention to marry again. "

"All right, " said Piers. 

He gave her hand a little shake and released it. For a second--only asecond--she caught a sparkle in his eyes that seemed to her almost likea gleam of mockery. And then with characteristic suddenness he sprangto his feet. 

"Well, I'd better be going, " he said in a voice that was perfectly normaland free from agitation. "I can't stop to see the kiddie this time. I'mglad she's going on all right. I wonder when you'll be back again. "

"Not at present, I think, " said Avery, trying not to be disconcerted byhis abruptness. 

He looked down at her whimsically. "You're a good sort, Avery, " he said. "I won't be so violent next time. "

"There mustn't be a next time, " she said quickly. "Please Piers, thatmust be quite understood!"

"All right, " he said again. "I understand. "

And with that very suddenly he left her, so suddenly that she satmotionless on her rock and stared after him, not believing that he wasreally taking his leave. 

He did not turn his head, however, and very soon he passed round thejutting headland, and was gone from her sight. Only when thathappened did she draw a long, long breath and realize how much of herstrength had been spent to gain what after all appeared to be but avery barren victory. 

CHAPTER XXXI

THE RETURN

"_Ah! C'est Monsieur Pierre enfin!_" Eagerly Victor greeted theappearance of his young master. He looked as if he would have liked toembrace him. 

Piers' attitude, however, did not encourage any display of tenderness. He flung himself gloomily down into a chair and regarded the man withsombre eyes. 

"Where's Sir Beverley?" he said. 

Victor spread forth expressive hands. _"Mais_, Sir Beverley, he sit upall the night attending you, _mon petit monsieur. Et moi_, I sit up also. _Mais Monsieur Pierre! Monsieur Pierre!"_

He began to shake his head at Piers in fond reproof, but Piers paid noattention. 

"Sat up all night, what?" he said. "Then where is he now? In bed?"

There was a deep line between his black brows; all the gaiety and sparklehad gone from his eyes. He looked tired out. 

It was close upon the luncheon-hour, and he had tramped up from thestation. There were refreshments in front of him, but he bluntly refusedto touch them. 

"Why can't you speak, man?" he said irritably. "Tell me where he is!"

"He has gone for his ride as usual, " Victor said, speaking through pursedlips. "But he is very, very feeble to-day, _Monsieur Pierre_. We beg himnot to go. But what would you? He is the master. We could not stop him. But he sit in his saddle--like this. "

Victor's gesture descriptive of the bent, stricken figure that had riddenforth that morning was painfully true to life. 

Piers sprang to his feet. "And he isn't back yet? Where on earth can hebe? Which way did he go?"

Victor raised his shoulders. "He go down the drive--as always. _Aprèscela, je ne sais pas. _"

"Confusion!" ejaculated Piers, and was gone. 

He had returned by a short cut across the park, but now he tore downthe long avenue, running like a trained athlete, head up and elbows in, possessed by the single purpose of reaching the lodge in as brief atime as possible. They would know at the lodge which way hisgrandfather had gone. 

He found Marshall just turning in at his gate for the midday meal, andhailed him without ceremony. 

The old man stopped and surveyed him with sour disapproval. The news ofPiers' abrupt disappearance on the previous night had spread. 

No, Marshall could give him no news as to the master's whereabouts; hehad been out all the morning. 

"Well, find Mrs. Marshall!" ordered Piers impatiently. "She'll knowsomething. She must have opened the gate. "

Mrs. Marshall, summoned by a surly yell from her husband, stood in thedoor-way, thin-lipped and austere, and announced briefly that SirBeverley had gone down towards the Vicarage; she didn't know no morethan that. 

It was enough for Piers. He was gone again like a bird on the wing. Thecouple at the lodge looked after him with a species of unwillingadmiration. His very arrogance fed their pride in him, disapprovethough they might of his wild, foreign ways. Whatever the mixture inhis veins, the old master's blood ran there, and they would always beloyal to that. 

That run to the Vicarage taxed even Piers' powers. The steep hill at theend made him aware that his strength had its limits, and he was forced topause for breath when he reached the top. He leaned against the Vicaragegate-post with the memory of that winter evening in his mind when Averyhad come swift-footed to the rescue, and had cooled his fury with abucket of cold water. 

A step in the garden made him straighten himself abruptly. He turned tosee a tall, black-coated figure emerge. The Reverend Stephen Lorimer cameup with dignity and greeted him. 

"Were you about to enter my humble abode?" he enquired. 

"Is my grandfather here?" asked Piers. 

Mr. Lorimer smiled benignly. He liked to imagine himself upon terms ofintimacy with Sir Beverley though the latter did very little tojustify the idea. 

"Well, no, " he said, "I have not had the pleasure of seeing him hereto-day. Did he express the intention of paying me a visit?"

"No, sir, no!" said Piers impatiently. "I only thought it possible, that's all. Good-bye!"

He swung round and departed, leaving the worthy Vicar looking after himwith a shrewd and not over-friendly smile at the corners of his eyes. 

Beyond the Vicarage the road wound round again to the park, and Piersfollowed it. It led to a gate that opened upon a riding which was afavourite stretch for a gallop with both Sir Beverley and himself. Through this he passed, no longer running, but striding over the springy, turf between the budding beech saplings at a pace that soon took him intothe heart of the woodland. 

Pressing on, he came at length to a cross-riding, and here on boggyground he discovered recent hoof-marks. There were a good many of them, and he was puzzled for a time as to the direction they had taken. Theanimal seemed to have wandered to and fro. But he found a continuoustrack at length and followed it. 

It led to an old summer-house perched on a slope that overlooked thescene of Jeanie's accident in the winter. A cold wind drove down upon himas he ascended. The sky was grey with scurrying clouds. The bare downslooked indescribably desolate. 

Piers hastened along with set teeth. The dread he would not acknowledgehung like a numbing weight upon him. Somehow, inexplicably, he knew thathe was nearing the end of his quest. 

The long moan of the wind was the only sound to be heard. It seemed tofill the world. No voice of bird or beast came from near or far. Heseemed to travel through a vast emptiness--the only living thing astir. 

He reached the thatched summer-house at last, noted with a curiousdetachment that it was beginning to look dilapidated, wondered if hewould find it after all deserted, and the next moment was nearlyoverwhelmed by a huge grey body that hurled itself upon him from theinterior of the little arbour. 

It was Caesar the great Dalmatian who greeted him thus effusively, andPiers realized in an instant that the dog had some news to impart. Hepushed him aside with a brief word of welcome and entered theivy-grown place. 

"Hullo!" gasped a voice with painful utterance. "Hullo!"

And in a moment he discerned Sir Beverley crouched in a corner, grey-faced, his riding-whip still clutched in his hand. 

Impetuously he went to him, stooped above him. "What on earth hashappened, sir? You haven't been thrown?" he queried anxiously. 

"Thrown! I!" Sir Beverley's voice cracked derisively. "No! I got off--tohave a look at the place, --and the brute jibbed--and gave me the slip. "

The words came with difficult jerks, his breathing was short andlaboured. Piers, bending over him, saw a spasm of pain contract the greyface that nevertheless looked so indomitably into his. 

"He'll go back to stables, " growled Sir Beverley. "It's a way coltshave--when they've had their fling. What have you come back for, eh?Thought I couldn't do without you?"

There was a stony glint in his eyes as he asked the question. His thinlips curved sardonically. 

Piers, still with anxiety lying cold at his heart, had no place left forresentment. He made swift and winning answer. "I've been a brute, sir. I've come back to ask your forgiveness. "

The sardonic lips parted. "Instead of--a hiding--eh?" gasped SirBeverley. 

Piers drew back momentarily; but the grey, drawn face compelled hispity. He stifled his wrath unborn. "I'll take that first, sir, " hesaid steadily. 

Sir Beverley's frown deepened, but his breathing was growing lessoppressed. He suddenly collected his energies and spoke with his usualirascibility. 

"Oh, don't try any of your damned heroics on me, sir! Apologize like agentleman--if you can! If not--if not--" He broke off panting, his lipsstill forming words that he lacked the strength to utter. 

Piers sat down beside him on the crazy bench. "I will do anything youwish, sir, " he said. "I'm horribly sorry for the way I've treated you. I'm ready to make any amends in my power. "

"Oh, get away!" growled out Sir Beverley. But with the words his handcame gropingly forth and fastened in a hard grip on Piers' arm. "Youtalk like a Sunday-school book, " he said. "What the devil did you doit for, eh?"

It was roughly spoken, but Piers was quick to recognize the spirit behindthe words. He clapped his own hand upon his grandfather's, and wasshocked afresh at its icy coldness. 

"I say, do let's go" he said. "We can't talk here. It's downright madnessto sit in this draughty hole. Come along, sir!" He thrust a vigorous armabout the old man and hoisted him to his feet. 

"Oh, you're mighty strong!" gasped Sir Beverley. "Strong enough--to kickover--the traces, eh?"

"Never again, sir, " said Piers with decision. 

Whereat Sir Beverley looked at him searchingly, and gibed no more. 

They went out together on to the open wind-swept hillside, Piers stillstrongly supporting him, for he stumbled painfully. It was a difficultprogress for them both, and haste was altogether out of the question. 

Sir Beverley revived somewhat as they went, but more than once he had topause to get his breath. His weakness was a revelation to Piers though hesought to reassure himself with the reflection that it was the naturaloutcome of his night's vigil; and moment by moment his compunction grew. 

They were no more than a mile from the Abbey, but it took them thegreater part of two hours to accomplish the distance, and at the endof it Sir Beverley was hanging upon Piers in a state that borderedupon collapse. 

His animal had just returned riderless, and considerable consternationprevailed. Victor, who was on the watch, rushed to meet them withcharacteristic nimbleness, and he and Piers between them carried SirBeverley in, and laid him down before the great hall fire. 

But though so exhausted as to be scarcely conscious, he still clung fastto Piers, not suffering him to stir from side; and there Piers remained, chafing the cold hands administering brandy, while Victor, invaluable inan emergency, procured pillows, blankets, hot-water bottles, everythingthat his fertile brain could suggest to restore the failing strength. 

Again, though slowly, Sir Beverley rallied, recovered his faculties, cameback to full understanding. "Had anything to eat?" he rapped out sosuddenly that Piers, kneeling beside him, jumped with astonishment. 

"I, sir? No, I'm not hungry, " he said. "You're feeling better, what? CanI get you something?"

"Oh, don't be a damn' fool!" said Sir Beverley. "Tell 'em to fetchsome lunch!"

It was the turning-point. From that moment he began to recover in afashion that amazed Piers, cast aside blankets and pillows, sternlyforbade Piers to summon the doctor, and sat up before the fire with agrim refusal to be coddled any longer. 

They lunched together in the warmth of the blazing logs, and Sir Beverleybecame so normal in his attitude that Piers began at last to feelreassured. 

He did not broach the matter that lay between them, knowing well that hisgrandfather's temperament was not such as to leave it long in abeyance;and they smoked together in peace after the meal as though the strife ofthe previous evening had never been. 

But the memory of it overhung them both, and finally at the end of alengthy silence Sir Beverley turned his stone-grey eyes upon his grandsonand spoke. 

"Well? What have you to say for yourself?"

Piers came out of a reverie and looked up with a faint rueful smile. "Nothing, sir, " he said. 

"Nothing? What do you mean by that?" Sir Beverley's voice was sharp. "Yougo away like a raving lunatic, and stay away all night, and then comeback with nothing to say. What have you been up to? Tell me that!"

Piers leaned slowly forward, took up the poker and gently pushed itinto the fire. "She won't have me, " he said, with his eyes upon theleaping flames. 

"What?" exclaimed Sir Beverley. "You've been after that hussy again?"

Piers' brows drew together in a thick, ominous line; but he merely noddedand said, "Yes. "

"The devil you have!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. "And she refused you?"

"She did. " Again very softly Piers poked at the blazing logs, his eyesfixed and intent. "It served me right--in a way, " he said, speakingmeditatively, almost as if to himself. "I was a hound--to ask her. But--somehow--I was driven. However, " he drove the poker in a littlefurther, "it's all the same now as she's refused me. That's why, " heturned his eyes suddenly upon Sir Beverley, "there's nothing to be said. "

There was no defiance in his look, but it held something of a bafflingquality. It was almost as if in some fashion he were conscious of relief. 

Sir Beverley stared at him, angry and incredulous. "Refused you! What thedevil for? Wanted my consent, I suppose? Thought I held thepurse-strings, eh?"

"Oh no, " said Piers, again faintly smiling, "she didn't care a damn aboutthat. She knows I am not dependent upon you. But--she has no use for me, that's all. "

"No use for you!" Sir Beverley's voice rose. "What the--what the devildoes she want then, I should like to know?"

"She doesn't want anyone, " said Piers. "At least she thinks she doesn't. You see, she's been married before. "

There was a species of irony in his voice that yet was withoutbitterness. He turned back to his aimless stirring of the fire, and therefell a silence between them. 

But Sir Beverley's eyes were fixed upon his grandson's face in a close, unsparing scrutiny. "So you thought you might as well come back, " hesaid at last. 

"She made me, " said Piers, without looking round. 

"Made you!"

Again Piers nodded. "I was to tell you from her that she quiteunderstands your attitude; but that you needn't be anxious, as she has nointention of marrying again. "

"Confound her impudence!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. 

"Oh no!" Piers' voice sounded too tired to be indignant. "I don't thinkyou can accuse her of that. There has never been any flirtation betweenus. It wasn't her fault. I--made a fool of myself. It just happened inthe ordinary course of things. "

He ceased to speak, laid down the poker without sound, and sat withclasped hands, staring blindly before him. 

Again there fell a silence. The clock in the corner ticked on withmelancholy regularity, the logs hissed and spluttered viciously; butthe two men sat in utter stillness, both bowed as if beneath apressing burden. 

One of them moved at last, stretched out a bony, trembling hand, laid iton the other's shoulder. 

"Piers boy, " Sir Beverley said, with slow articulation, "believe me, there's not a woman on this earth worth grizzling about. They're liarsand impostors, every one. "

Piers started a little, then with a very boyish movement, he laid hischeek against the old bent fingers. "My dear sir, " he said, "but you're awoman-hater!"

"I know, " said Sir Beverley, still in that heavy, fateful fashion. "And Ihave reason. I tell you, boy, --and I know, --you would be better off inyour coffin than linked to a woman you seriously cared for. It's hell onearth--hell on earth!"

"Or paradise, " muttered Piers. 

"A fool's paradise, boy; a paradise that turns to dust and ashes. " SirBeverley's voice quivered suddenly. He withdrew his hand to fumble in aninner pocket. In a moment he stretched it forth again with a key lyingon the palm. 

"Take that!" he said. "Open that bureau thing behind you! Look in theleft-hand drawer! There's something there for you to see. "

Piers obeyed him. There was that in Sir Beverley's manner that silencedall questioning. He pulled out the drawer and looked in. It contained onething only--a revolver. 

Sir Beverley went on speaking, calmly, dispassionately, whollyimpersonally. "It's loaded--has been loaded for fifty years. But I neverused it. And that not because my own particular hell wasn't hot enough, but just because I wouldn't have it said that I'd ever loved anyshe-devil enough to let her be my ruin. There were times enough when Inearly did it. I've sat all night with the thing in my hand. But I hungon for that reason, till at last the fire burnt out, and I didn't care. Every woman is the same to me now. I know now--and you've got to know ittoo--that woman is only fit to be the servant, not the mistress, ofman, --and a damn treacherous servant at that. She was made for man'suse, and if he is fool enough to let her get the upper hand, then Heavenhelp him, for he certainly won't be in a position to help himself!"

He stopped abruptly, and in the silence Piers shut and relockedthe drawer. He dropped the key into his own pocket, and came backto the fire. 

Sir Beverley looked up at him with something of an effort. "Boy, " hesaid, "you've got to marry some day, I know. You've got to havechildren. But--you're young, you know. There's plenty of time beforeyou. You might wait a bit--just a bit--till I'm out of the way. I won'tkeep you long; and I won't beat you often either--if you'll condescendto stay with me. "

He smiled with the words, his own grim ironical smile; but the pathos ofit cut straight to Piers' heart. He went down on his knees beside the oldman and thrust his arm about the shrunken shoulders. 

"I'll never leave you again, sir, " he vowed earnestly. "I've been aheartless brute, and I'm most infernally sorry. As to marrying, well--there's no more question of that for me. I couldn't marry Ina Rose. You understand that?"

"Never liked the chit, " growled Sir Beverley. "Only thought she'd answeryour purpose better than some. For you've got to get an heir, boy;remember that! You're the only Evesham left. "

"Oh, damn!" said Piers very wearily. "What does it matter?"

Sir Beverley looked at him from under his thick brows piercingly butwithout condemnation. "It's up to you, Piers, " he said. 

"Is it?" said Piers, with a groan. "Well, let's leave it at that for thepresent! Sure you've forgiven me?"

Sir Beverley's grim face relaxed again. He put his arm round Piers andheld him hard for a moment. 

Then: "Oh, drat it, Piers!" he said testily. "Get away, do! And behaveyourself for the future!"

Whereat Piers laughed, a short, unsteady laugh, and went back tohis chair. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE DECISION

"The matter is settled, " said the Reverend Stephen Lorimer, in the tonesof icy decision with which his wife was but too tragically familiar. "Iengaged Mrs. Denys to be a help to you, not exclusively to Jeanie. Thechild is quite well enough to return home, and I do not feel myselfjustified in incurring any further expense now that her health is quitesufficiently restored. "

"But the children were all counting on going to Stanbury Cliffs for theEaster holidays, " protested Mrs. Lorimer almost tearfully. "We cannotdisappoint them, Stephen!" Mr. Lorimer's lips closed very firmly for afew seconds. Then, "The change home will be quite sufficient for them, "he said. "I have given the matter my full consideration, my dearAdelaide, and no argument of yours will now move me. Mrs. Denys andJeanie have been away for a month, and they must now return. It is yourturn for a change, and as soon as Eastertide is over I intend to take youaway with me for ten days or so and leave Mrs. Denys in charge of--thebear-garden, as I fear it but too truly resembles. You are quite unfitfor the noise and racket of the holidays. And I myself have been feelinglately the need of a little--shall I call it recreation?" Mr. Lorimersmiled self-indulgently over the term. He liked to play with words. "Ipresume you have no vital objection to accompanying me?"

"Oh, of course not. I should like it above all things, " Mrs. Lorimerhastened to assure him, "if it were not for Jeanie. I don't like thethought of bringing her home just when her visit is beginning to do herso much good. "

"She cannot remain away for ever, " said Mr. Lorimer. "Moreover, herdelicacy must have been considerably exaggerated, or such a suddenimprovement could scarcely have taken place. At all events, so it appearsto me. She must therefore return home and spend the holidays in wholesomeamusements with the other children; and when they are over, I really mustturn my serious attention to her education which has been so sadlyneglected since Christmas. Mrs. Denys is doubtless a very excellent womanin her way, but she is not, I fear, one to whom I could safely entrustthe intellectual development of a child of Jeanie's age. " He paused, looking up with complacent enquiry at his wife's troubled face. "And nowwhat scruples are stirring in the mind of my spouse?" he asked, withplayful affection. 

Mrs. Lorimer did not smile in answer. Her worried little face onlydrew into more anxious lines. "Stephen, " she said, "I do wish youwould consult Dr. Tudor before you quite decide to have Jeanie homeat present. "

The Vicar's mouth turned down, and he looked for a moment so extremelyunpleasant that Mrs. Lorimer quailed. Then, "My dear, " he saiddeliberately, "when I decide upon a specific course of action, I carry itthrough invariably. If I were not convinced that what I am about to dowere right, I should not do it. Pray let me hear no more upon thesubject! And remember, Adelaide, it is my express command that you do notapproach Dr. Tudor in this matter. He is a most interfering person, andwould welcome any excuse to obtain a footing in this house again. But nowthat I have at length succeeded in shaking him off, I intend to keep himat a distance for the future. And he is not to be called in--understandthis very clearly, if you please--except in a case of extreme urgency. This is a distinct order, Adelaide, and I shall be severely displeased ifyou fail to observe it. And now, " he resumed his lighter manner again ashe rose from his chair, "I must hie me to the parish room where my goodMiss Whalley is awaiting me. "

He stretched forth a firm, kind hand and patted his wife's shoulder. 

"We must see what we can do to bring a little colour into those palecheeks, " he said. "A fortnight in the Cornish Riviera perhaps. Or wemight take a peep at Shakespeare's country. But we shall see, weshall see! I will write to Mrs. Denys and acquaint her with mydecision this evening. "

He was gone, leaving Mrs. Lorimer to pace up and down his study in futiledistress of mind. Only that morning a letter from Avery had reached her, telling her of Jeanie's continued progress, and urging her to come andtake her place for a little while. It was such a change as her tired soulcraved, but she had not dared to tell her husband so. And now, it seemed, Jeanie's good time also was to be terminated. 

There was no doubt about it. Rodding did not suit the child. She wasnever well at home. The Vicarage was shut in by trees, a damp, unhealthyplace. And Dr. Tudor had told her in plain terms that Jeanie lacked thestrength to make any headway there. She was like a wilting plant in thatatmosphere. She could not thrive in it. Dry warmth was what she needed, and it had made all the difference to her. Avery's letter had been fullof hope. She referred to Dr. Tudor's simile of the building of asea-wall. "We are strengthening it every day, " she wrote. "In a few moreweeks it ought to be proof against any ordinary tide. "

A few more weeks! Mrs. Lorimer wrung her hands. Stephen did not know, did not realize; and she was powerless to convince him. Avery would notconvince him either. He tolerated only Avery because she was so useful. 

She knew exactly the sort of letter he would write, desiring theirreturn; and Avery, for all her quiet strength, would have to submit. Oh, it was cruel--cruel!

The tears were coursing down her cheeks when the door opened unexpectedlyand Olive entered. She paused at sight of her mother, looking at her withjust the Vicar's air of chill enquiry. 

"Is anything the matter?" she asked. 

Mrs. Lorimer turned hastily to the window and began to dry her eyes. 

Olive went to a bookshelf and stood before it. After a moment she tookout a book and deliberately turned we leaves. Her attitude was plainlyrepressive. 

Finally she returned the book to the shelf and turned. "Why are youcrying, Mother?"

Mrs. Lorimer leaned her head against the window-frame with a heavy sigh. "I am very miserable, Olive, " she said, a catch in her voice. 

"No one need be that, " observed Olive. "Father says that misery is a signof mental weakness. "

Mrs. Lorimer was silent. 

"Don't you think you had better leave off crying and find something todo?" suggested her daughter in her cool, young voice. 

Still Mrs. Lorimer neither moved nor spoke. 

Olive came a step nearer. There was obvious distaste on her face. "Iwish you would try to be a little brighter--for Father's sake, " shesaid. "I don't think you treat him very kindly. "

It was evident that she spoke from a sense of duty. Mrs. Lorimerstraightened herself with another weary sigh. 

"Run along, my dear!" she said. "I am sure you are busy. "

Olive turned, half-vexed and half-relieved, and walked to the door. Hermother watched her wistfully. It was in her mind to call her back, foldher in her arms, and appeal for sympathy. But the severity of the child'spose was too suggestive of the Vicar's unbending attitude towardsfeminine weakness, and she restrained the impulse, knowing that she wouldappeal in vain. There was infinitely more comfort to be found in thesociety of Baby Phil, and, smiling wanly at the thought, she went up tothe nursery in search of it. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE LAST DEBT

There was no combating the Vicar's decision. Avery realized that factfrom the outset even before Mrs. Lorimer's agitated note upon the subjectreached her. The fiat had gone forth, and submission was the only course. 

Jeanie received the news without a murmur. "I don't mind really, " shesaid. "It's very nice here, but then it's nice at home too when you arethere. And then there is Piers too. "

Yes, there was Piers, --another consideration that filled Avery withuneasiness. No word from Piers had reached her since that early morningon the shore, but his silence did not reassure her. She had half expecteda boyish letter of apology, some friendly reassurance, some word at leastof his return to Rodding Abbey. But she had heard nothing. She did not somuch as know if he had returned or not. 

Neither had she heard from her friend Edmund Crowther. With a sense ofkeen disappointment she wrote to his home in the North to tell him of thechange in her plans. She could not ask him to the Vicarage, and it seemedthat she might not meet him after all. 

She also sent a hurried note to Lennox Tudor, but they had only threedays in which to terminate their visit, and she received no reply. Later, she heard that Tudor had been away for those days and did not open thenote until the actual day of their return. 

The other children were expected home from school during the week beforeEaster, and Mr. Lorimer desired that Avery should be at the Vicarage toprepare for them. So, early in the week, they returned. 

It seemed that Spring had come at last. The hedges were all bursting intotenderest green, and all the world looked young. 

"The primroses will be out in the Park woods, " said Jeanie. "We will goand gather heaps and heaps. "

"Are you allowed to go wherever you like there?" asked Avery, thinkingof the game. 

"Oh no, " said Jeanie thoughtfully. "But we always do. Mr. Marshall chasesus sometimes, but we always get away. "

She smiled at the thought, and Avery frankly rejoiced to see herenthusiasm for the wicked game of trespassing in the Squire's preserves. She did not know that the amusement had been strictly prohibited by theVicar, and it did not occur to Jeanie to tell her. None of the childrenhad ever paid any attention to the prohibition. There were some rulesthat no one could keep. 

The return of the rest of the family kept the days that succeeded theirreturn extremely lively. Jeanie was in higher spirits than Avery hadever seen her. She seemed more childish, more eager for fun, as thoughsome of the zest of life had got into her veins at last. Her motherascribed the change to Avery's influence, and was pathetic in hergratitude, though Avery disclaimed all credit declaring that the sea-airhad wrought the wonder. 

When Lennox Tudor saw her, he looked at Avery with an odd smile behindhis glasses. "You've built the wall, " he said. 

They had met by the churchyard gate, and Jeanie and Pat were having ahopping race down the hill. Avery looked after them with a touch ofwistfulness. "But I wish she could have been away longer. "

Tudor frowned. "Yes. Why on earth not? The Reverend Stephen again, Isuppose. I wish I had had your letter sooner, though as a matter of factI'm not in favour just now, and my interference would probably weigh inthe wrong balance. Keep the child out as much as possible! It's the onlyway. She has made good progress. There is no reason at present why sheshould go back again. "

No, there was no reason; yet Avery's heart misgave her. She wished shemight have had longer for the building of that wall. Good Friday was moreor less a day of penance in the Vicar's family. It began with lengthyprayers in the dining-room, so lengthy that Avery feared that Mrs. Lorimer would faint ere they came to an end. Then after a rigorouslysilent breakfast the children were assembled in the study to bequestioned upon the Church Catechism--a species of discipline peculiarlyabhorrent to them all by reason of the Vicar's sarcastic comments upontheir ignorance. 

At the end of this dreary exercise they were dismissed to prepare forchurch where there followed a service which Avery regarded as downrightrevolting. It consisted mainly of prayers--as many prayers as the Vicarcould get in, rendered in an emotionless monotone with small regard forsense and none whatever for feeling. The whole thing was drab andunattractive to the utmost limit, and Avery rose at length from herknees with a feeling of having been deliberately cheated of a thing shevalued. She left the church in an unwonted spirit of exasperation, whichlasted throughout the midday meal, which was as oppressively silent asbreakfast had been. 

The open relief with which the children trooped away to the schoolroomfound a warm echo in her heart. She even almost smiled in sympathy whenJulian breathed a deep thanksgiving that that show was over for onemore year. 

Neither Piers nor his grandfather had been in the church, and theirabsence did not surprise her. She did not feel that she herself couldever face such a service again. The memory of Piers at the organ came toher as she dressed to accompany the children upon their primrosingexpedition, and a sudden passionate longing followed it to hear thatmusic again. She was feeling starved in her soul that day. 

But when they reached the green solitudes of the park woodlands thebitterness began to pass away. It was all so beautiful; the mossy ridingup which they turned was so springy underfoot, and the singing of athousand birds made endless music whichever way they wandered. 

"It's better than church, isn't it?" said Jeanie softly, pressing closeto her. And Avery smiled in answer. It was balm to the spirit. 

The Squire's preserves were enclosed in wire netting, and over this theyclimbed into their primrose paradise. Several partridges rose from thechildren's feet, and whirred noisily away, to the huge delight of theboys but to Avery's considerable dismay. However, Marshall was evidentlynot within earshot, and they settled down to the serious business offilling their baskets for the church decorations without interference. 

The primroses grew thickly in a wonderful carpet that spread in alldirections, sloping down to a glade where gurgled a brown stream. Downthis glade Avery directed her party, keeping a somewhat anxious eye uponGracie and the three boys who were in the wildest spirits after thesevere strain of the morning. She and Jeanie picked rapidly andmethodically. Olive had decided not to accompany the expedition. She didnot care for primrosing, she told Avery, and her father had promised toread the Testament in Greek with her later in the afternoon, anintellectual exercise which she plainly regarded as extremelymeritorious. 

Her absence troubled no one; in fact Julian, having over-heard herexcuse, remarked rudely that if she was going to put on side, they werebetter off without her; and Avery secretly agreed with him. 

So in cheery accord they went their careless way through the preserves, scaring the birds and filling their baskets with great industry. They hadreached the end of the glade and were contemplating fording the brookwhen like a bolt from the blue discovery came upon them. A sound, likethe blare of an angry bull, assailed them--a furious inarticulate soundthat speedily resolved into words. 

"What the devil are you mischievous brats doing there?"

The whole party jumped violently at the suddenness of the attack. Avery'sheart gave a most unpleasant jerk. She knew that voice. 

Swiftly she turned in the direction whence it came, and saw again thehuge white horse of the trampling hoofs that had once before been urgedagainst her. 

He was stamping and fretting on the other side of the stream, the banksof which were so steep as almost to form a chasm, and from his back theterrible old Squire hurled the vials of his wrath. 

Ronald drew near to Avery, while Jeanie slipped a nervous hand into hers. Julian, however, turned a defiant face. "It's all right. He can't get atus, " he said audibly. 

At which remark Gracie laughed a little hysterically, and Pat madea grimace. 

Perhaps it was this last that chiefly infuriated the Squire, for heliterally bellowed with rage, snatched his animal back with a mercilesshand, and then with whip and spur set him full at the stream. 

It was a dangerous leap, for the ground on both banks was yielding andslippery. Avery stood transfixed to watch the result. 

The horse made a great effort to obey his master's behests. It almostseemed as if he were furious too, Avery thought, as he pounded forward toclear the obstacle. His leap was superb, clearing the stream by a goodsix feet, but as he landed among the primroses disaster overtook him. Itmust have been a rabbit-hole, Avery reflected later; for he blundered ashe touched the ground, plunged forward, and fell headlong. 

There followed a few moments of sickening confusion during which thehorrified spectators had time to realize that Sir Beverley was pinnedunder the kicking animal; then with a savage effort the great bruterolled over and struggled to his feet. 

With a promptitude that spoke well for his nerve, Julian sprang forwardand caught the dangling bridle. The creature tried to jib back upon hisprostrate master, but he dragged him forward and held him fast. 

Old Sir Beverley lay prone on the ground, in an awful stillness, with hiswhite face turned to the sky. His eyes were fast shut, his arms flungwide, one hand still grasping the whip which he had wielded so fiercely afew seconds before. 

"Is he dead?" whispered Jeanie, clinging close to Avery. 

Avery gently released herself and moved forward. "No, dear, no! He--he isonly stunned. "

She knelt beside Sir Beverley, overcoming a horrible sensation ofsickness as she did so. The whole catastrophe had been of so sudden andso violent a nature that she felt almost stunned herself. 

She slipped an arm under the old man's head, and it hung upon her like aleaden weight. 

"Oh, Avery, how dreadful!" exclaimed Gracie, aghast. 

"Take my handkerchief!" said Avery quickly. "Run down and soak it in thestream! Mind how you go! It's very steep. "

Gracie went like the wind. 

Avery began with fingers that shook in spite of her utmost resolution, to try to loosen Sir Beverley's collar. 

"Let me!" said Ronald, gently. 

She glanced up gratefully and relinquished the task to him. Ronald wasneat in all his ways. 

The return of Gracie with the wet handkerchief gave her something to do, and she tenderly moistened the stark, white face. But the children'sfears were crowding thick in her own heart. That awful inertness lookedso terribly like death. 

And then suddenly the grim lips parted and a quivering sigh passedthrough them. 

The next moment abruptly the grey eyes opened and gazed full at Averywith a wide, glassy stare. 

"What the--what the--" stammered Sir Beverley, and broke off with ahard gasp. 

Avery sought to raise him higher, but his weight was too much for hereven with Ronald assisting. 

"Find my--flask!" jerked out Sir Beverley, with panting breath. 

Ronald began to search in his pockets and finally drew it forth. Heopened it and gave it to Avery who held it to the twitching lips. 

Sir Beverley drank and closed his eyes. "I shall be--better soon, " hesaid, in a choked whisper. 

Avery waited, supporting him as strongly as she could, listening to theshort laboured breathing with deep foreboding. 

"Couldn't I run down to the Abbey for help?" suggested Julian, who hadsucceeded at length in tying the chafing animal to a tree. 

Avery considered. "I don't know. How far is it?"

"Not more than a mile. P'r'aps I should find Piers there. I'm sure I'dbetter go, " the boy urged, with his eyes on the deathly face. 

And after a moment Avery agreed with him. "Yes, I think perhaps you'dbetter. Gracie and Pat might go for Dr. Tudor meanwhile. I do hope youwill find Piers. Tell him to bring two men, and something that they cancarry him on. Jeanie dear, you run home to your mother and tell her howit is that we shall be late for tea. You won't startle her, I know. "

They fell in with her desires at once. There was not one of them whowould not have done anything for her. And so they scattered, departingupon their several missions, leaving Ronald only to share her vigil bythe old Squire's side. 

For a long time after their departure, there was no change in SirBeverley's state. He lay propped against Avery's arm and Ronald's kneebreathing quickly, with painful effort, through his parted lips. He kepthis eyes closed, but they knew that he was conscious by the heavy frownthat drew his forehead. Once Avery offered him more brandy, but herefused it impatiently, and she desisted. 

The deathly pallor had, however, begun to give place to a more naturalhue, and as the minutes passed his breathing gradually grew lessdistressed. Once more his eyes opened, and he stared into Avery's face. 

"Help me--to sit up!" he commanded. 

They did their best, he struggling with piteously feeble efforts tohelp himself. Finally he managed to drag himself to a leaning positionon one elbow, though for several seconds thereafter his gasping wasterrible to hear. 

Avery saw his lips move several times before any sound came from them. Atlength, "Send--that boy--away!" he gasped out. 

Avery and Ronald looked at each other, and the boy got to his feet withan undecided air. 

"Do you hear? Go!" rapped out Sir Beverley. 

"Shall I, Avery?" whispered Ronald. 

She nodded. "Yes, just a little way! I'll call you if I want you. "

And half-reluctantly Ronald obeyed. 

"Has he gone?" asked Sir Beverley. 

"Yes. " Avery remained on her knees beside him. He looked as if he mightcollapse at any moment. 

For awhile he lay struggling for breath with his face towards the ground;then very suddenly his strength seemed to return. He raised his head andregarded her piercingly. 

"You, " he said curtly, "are the young woman who refused to marry mygrandson. "

The words were so totally unexpected that Avery literally gasped withastonishment. To be taken to task on this subject was an ordeal for whichshe was wholly unprepared. 

"Well?" he said irritably. "That is so, I believe? You did refuse tomarry him?"

"Yes, " Avery admitted, feeling the hot colour flood her face under themerciless scrutiny of the stone-grey eyes. 

"But--but--"

"Well?" he said again, still more irritably. "But what?"

"Oh, need we discuss it?" she said appealingly. "I would so muchrather not. "

"I desire to discuss it, " said Sir Beverley autocratically. "I desireto know--what objection you have to my grandson. Many women, let metell you, of far higher social standing than yourself would jump atsuch a chance. But you--you take upon yourself to refuse it. I desireto know why. "

He spoke with a stubbornness that overbore all bodily weakness. He wouldbe a tyrant to his last breath. 

But Avery could not bring herself to answer him. She felt as if he weretrying to force his way into a place which regarded as peculiarly sacred, from which in some fashion she owed it to Piers as well as to herself tobar him out. 

"I am sorry, " she said gently after a moment, "but I am afraid that isjust what I can't tell you. "

She saw Sir Beverley's chin thrust out at just the indomitable angle withwhich Piers had made her familiar, and she realized that he had nointention of abandoning his point. 

"You told him, I suppose?" he demanded gruffly. 

A faint sense of amusement arose within her, her anxiety notwithstanding. It struck her as ludicrous that she should be browbeaten on this point. 

She made answer with more assurance. "I told him that the idea wasunsuitable, out of the question, that he ought to marry a girl of his ownage and station--not a middle-aged widow like me. "

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Sir Beverley impatiently. "You belong to the samegeneration, don't you? What more do you want?"

If he had slapped her face, Avery would scarcely have felt more amazed, She gazed at him in silence, wondering if she could have heard aright. 

Sir Beverley frowned upon her fiercely, the iron will of him scorning andsurmounting his physical weakness. 

"You've got nothing against the boy, I suppose?" he pursued, with theevident determination to get at the truth despite all opposition. "He hasnever given you any cause for complaint? He's behaved himself like agentleman, hey?"

"Oh, of course, of course!" Avery said in distress. "It's not that!"

Sir Beverley frowned still more heavily. "Then--what the devil is it?"he demanded. "Don't you like him well enough? Aren't you--in love withhim?" His lips curled ironically over the words; they soundedinexpressibly bitter. 

Avery's eyes fell before his pitiless stare. She began with fingers thattrembled to pluck the primroses that grew in a large tuft close to her, saying no word. 

"Well?" said Sir Beverley, with growing impatience. 

She kept her eyes lowered, for she felt she could not meet his look asshe made reluctant answer. "No, it is not either. In fact, if I were agirl--I had not been married before--I think I should say Yes. But--but--" she paused, searching for words, striving to restrain arising agitation, "as it is, I don't think it would be quite fair to him. I don't know if I could make him happy. I am not young enough, freshenough, gay enough. I can't offer him a girl's first love, and that iswhat he ought to have. I so want him to have the best. I so want him tobe happy. "

The words were out with a rush, almost before she was aware of utteringthem, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears, tears that caught her offher guard, so that she had neither time nor strength to check them. Sheturned quickly from him, fighting for self-control. 

Sir Beverley uttered a grunt that might have denoted either surprise ordisgust, and there followed a silence that she found peculiarlydifficult to bear. 

"So, " he said at last, in a tone that was strictly devoid of feeling, "you care for him too much to marry him? Is that it?"

It sounded preposterous, but she was still too near tears for any senseof humour to penetrate her distress. She felt as if he had remorselesslywrested from her and dragged to light a treasure upon which she herselfhad scarcely dared to look. She continued feverishly to pluck the paleflowers that grew all about them, her eyes fixed upon her task. 

With a growling effort, Sir Beverley raised himself, thrust forward aquivering hand and gripped hers. 

Startled, she turned towards him, meeting not hostility but a certaingrim kindliness in the hard old eyes. 

"Will you honour me with your attention for a moment?" he asked, withironical courtesy. 

"I am attending, " she answered meekly. 

"Then, " he said, dropping all pretence at courtesy without furtherceremony, "permit me to say that if you don't marry my grandson, you'llbe a bigger fool than I take you for. And in my opinion, a sober-mindedwoman like you who will see to his comfort and be faithful to him is morelikely to make him happy than any of your headlong, flighty girls. "

He stopped; but he did not relinquish his hold upon her. There wasto Avery something oddly pathetic in the close grasp of thoseunsteady fingers. It was as if they made an appeal which he wouldhave scorned to utter. 

"You really wish me to marry him?" she said. 

He snarled at her like a surly dog. "Wish it? I! Good Heavens above, ifI had my way I'd never let him marry at all! But unfortunatelycircumstances demand it; and the boy himself--the boy himself, well--"his voice softened imperceptibly, rasped on a note of tenderness, "hewants looking after; he's young, you know. He'll be all alone verysoon, and--it isn't considered good for a man to live alone--not a youngman anyway. "

He broke off, still looking hard at Avery from under his drawn whitebrows as if daring her to dispute the matter. 

But she said nothing, and after a moment he resumed more equably: "That'sall I have to say on the subject. I wish you to understand that for theboy's sake--and for other considerations--I have withdrawn my opposition. You can marry him--as soon as you like. "

He sank down again on his elbow, and she saw a look of exhaustion on hisface. His head drooped forward on his chest, and, watching him, sherealized that he was an old, old man and very tired of life. 

Suddenly he jerked his head up again and met her pitying eyes. 

"I'm done, yes, " he said grimly, as if in response to her unspokenthought. "But I've paid my debts--all of 'em, including this last. " Hisvoice began to fail, but he forced it on, speaking spasmodically, withincreasing difficulty. "You sent my boy back to me--the otherday--against his will. Now I--make you a present of him--in return. There's good stuff in the lad, --nothing shabby about him. If you care forhim at all--you ought to be able to hold him--make him happy. Anyway--anyway--you might try!"

The appeal in the last words, whispered though they were, wasundisguised; and swiftly, impulsively, almost before she knew what shewas doing, Avery responded to it. 

"Oh, I will try!" she said very earnestly. "I will indeed!"

He looked at her fixedly for a moment with eyes of deep searching thatshe never forgot, and then his head dropped forward heavily. 

"You--have--said it!" he said, and sank unconscious upon the ground. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE MESSAGE

"My good Mrs. Denys, it is quite fruitless for you to argue the matter. Nothing you can say can alter the fact that you took the childrentrespassing in the Rodding Park preserves against my most stringentcommands, and this deplorable accident to the Squire is the directoutcome of the most flagrant insubordination. I have borne a good dealfrom you, but this I cannot overlook. You will therefore take a month'snotice from to-day, and as it is quite impossible for me to reconsidermy decision in this respect it would be wasted effort on your part tolodge any appeal against it. As for the children, I shall deal with themin my own way. "

The Vicar's thin lips closed upon the words with the severity of anirrevocable resolution. Avery heard him with a sense of wild rebellion ather heart to which she knew she must not give rein. She stood before him, a defenceless culprit brought up for punishment. 

It was difficult to be dignified under such circumstances, but shedid her best. 

"I am extremely sorry that I took the children into the preserves, " shesaid. "But I accept the full responsibility for having done so. They werenot greatly to blame in the matter. "

"Upon that point, " observed Mr. Lorimer, "I am the best judge. Thechildren will be punished as severely as I deem necessary. Meantime, youquite understand, do you not, that your duties here must terminate amonth from now? I am only sorry that I allowed myself to be persuaded toreconsider my decision on the last occasion. For more than one reason Ithink it is to be regretted. However, --" he completed the sentence with aheavy sigh and said no more. 

It was evident that he desired to close the interview, yet Averylingered. She could not go with the children's fate still in the balance. 

He looked at her interrogatively with raised brows. 

"You will not surely punish the children very severely?" she said. 

He waved a hand of cool dismissal. "I shall do whatever seems to me rightand advisable, " he said. 

It came to Avery that interference on this subject would do more harmthan good, and she turned to go. At the door his voice arrested her. "This day month then, Mrs. Denys!"

She bent her head in silent acquiescence, and went out. 

In the passage Gracie awaited her and wound eager arms about her. 

"Was he very horrid to you, Avery darling? What did he say?"

Avery went with her to the schoolroom where the other offenders wereassembled. It seemed to her almost cruel to attempt to suppress thetruth, but their reception of it went to her heart. Jeanie--the placid, sweet-tempered Jeanie--wept tears of such anguished distress that shefeared she would make herself ill. Gracie was too angry to weep. Shewanted to go straight to the study and beard the lion in his den, andonly Avery's most strenuous opposition restrained her. And into the midstof their tribulation came Mrs. Lorimer to mingle her tears with theirs. 

"What I shall do without you, Avery, I can't think, " was the burden ofher lament. 

Avery couldn't think either, for she knew better even than Mrs. Lorimerherself how much the latter had come to lean upon her. 

She had to turn her energies to comforting her disconsolate companions, but this task was still unaccomplished when the door opened and the Vicarstalked in upon them. 

He observed his wife's presence with cold displeasure, and at onceproceeded to dismiss her. 

"I desire your presence in the study for a few moments, Adelaide. Perhapsyou will be kind enough to precede me thither. "

He held the door open for her with elaborate ceremony, and Mrs. Lorimerhad no choice but to obey. She departed with a scared effort to check hertears under the stern disapproval of his look. 

He closed the door upon her and advanced to the table, gazing round uponthem with judicial severity. 

"I am here, " he announced, "to pass sentence. "

Jeanie, crying softly in her corner, made desperate attempts tocontrol herself under the awful look that was at this pointconcentrated upon her. 

After a pause the Vicar proceeded, with a spiteful glance at Avery. "Itis my intention to impose a holiday-task of sufficient magnitude to keepyou all out of mischief during the rest of the holidays. You willtherefore commit to memory various different portions of Milton's_Paradise Lost_ which I shall select, and which must be repeated to me intheir entirety without mistake on my return from my own hard-earnedholiday. And let me give you all fair warning, " he raised his voice andlooked round again, regarding poor Jeanie with marked austerity, "that ifany one of you is not word-perfect in his or her task by the day of myreturn--boy or girl I care not, the offence is the same--he or she willreceive a sound caning and the task will be returned. "

Thus he delivered himself, and turned to go; but paused at the door toadd, "Also, Mrs. Denys, will you be good enough to remember that it isagainst my express command that either you or any of the children shouldenter any part of Rodding Park during my absence. I desire that to beclearly understood. "

"It is understood, " said Avery in a low voice. 

"That is well, " said the Reverend Stephen, and walked majesticallyfrom the room. 

A few seconds of awed silence followed his departure; then to Avery'shorror Gracie snatched off one of her shoes and flung it violently at thedoor that he had closed behind him. Luckily for Gracie, her father was atthe foot of the stairs before this episode took place and beyond earshotalso of the furious storm of tears that followed it, with which evenAvery found it difficult to cope. 

It had been a tragic day throughout, and she was thankful when at lengthit drew to a close. 

But when night came at last, and she lay down in the darkness, she foundherself much too full of thought for sleep. Till then, she had not hadtime to review the day's happenings, but they crowded upon her as shelay, driving away all possibility of repose. 

What was she going to do? Over and over again she asked herself thequestion, bringing herself as it were each time to contemplate afresh theobstacle that had arisen in her path. Had she really promised to marryPiers? The Squire evidently thought she had. The memory of those lastwords of his came back to her again and again. He had been very much inearnest, very anxious to provide for his boy's future, desperately afraidof leaving him alone. How would he view his impetuous action, shewondered, on the morrow? Had he not even now possibly begun to repent?Would he really desire her to take him literally?

And Piers, --what of Piers? A sudden, warm thrill ran through her. Sheglowed from head to foot. She had not seen Piers since that morning bythe sea. She had a feeling that he was purposely avoiding her, and yetdeep in the secret heart of her she knew that what she had rejected overand over again was still irrevocably her own. He would come back to her. She knew he would come back. And again that strange warmth filled herveins. The memory of him just then was like a burst of sunshine after aday of storm. 

He had not been at home when Julian had taken the news of the Squire'saccident to the Abbey, and only menservants had come to the rescue. Shehad accompanied them part of the way back, but Tudor had overtaken themin the drive, and she and the boys had turned back. Sir Beverley had beenexhausted and but half-conscious, and he had not uttered another word toher. She wished Dr. Tudor had looked in on his way home, and thenwondered if the Squire's condition were such as to necessitate hisspending the night at the Abbey. He had once told her that Sir Beverleysuffered from a weakness of the heart which might develop seriously atany time; but though himself fully aware of the fact, the old man hadnever permitted Piers to be told. She had deemed it unfair to Piers, butit was no matter for interference. A great longing to know what washappening possessed her. Surely--surely Mr. Lorimer would send up in themorning to enquire!

Her thoughts took another turn. She had been given definite notice to go. In her efforts to console Mrs. Lorimer, and the children, she hadscarcely herself realized all that it would imply. She began to picturethe parting, and a quiver of pain went through her. How they had allgrown about her heart! How would she bear to say good-bye to her littledelicate Jeanie? And how would the child fare without her? She hardlydared to think. 

And then again that blinding ray of sunshine burst riotously through herclouds. If the impossible happened, if she ever married Piers--for thefirst time she deliberately faced and contemplated the thought--would shenot be at least within reach if trouble came? A little thrill of spitefulhumour ran through her at this point. She was quite sure that under suchcircumstances she would not be refused admittance to the Vicar's home. AsPiers' wife, its doors would always be open to her. 

As Piers' wife! She found herself repeating the words, repeating andrepeating them till their strangeness began to give place to a certainfamiliarity. Was it after all true, as he had once so vehementlyasserted, that they were meant for each other, belonged to each other, that the fate of each was bound in that of the other? What if she were awoman grown? What if her years outnumbered his? Had he not waked in hersuch music as her soul had never known before? Had he not opened for herthe gates of the forbidden land? And was there after all, any actualreason that she should refuse to enter? That land where the sun shonealways and the flowers bloomed without fading! That land where it wasalways spring!

There came in her soul a sudden swift ecstasy that was like the singingof many birds in the dawning, thrilling her through and through. She rosefrom her bed as though in answer to a call, and went to her open window. 

There before her, silver against the darkness, there shone a single star. The throbbing splendour of it seemed to pierce her. She held her breathas one waiting for a message. 

And, as she stood waiting, through her heart, softly, triumphantly, themessage came, spoken in the voice she had come to hear through allother voices. 

"It is the Star of Hope, Avery; yours--and mine. "

But even as she watched with all her spirit a-quiver with the wonder ofit, the vision passed; the star was veiled. 

CHAPTER XXXV

THE DARK HOUR

Avery was very early at the church on the following morning, and hadbegun the work of decorating even before Miss Whalley appeared on thescene. It was a day of showers and fleeting gleams of sunshine, and theinterior of the little building flashed from gloom to brilliance, andfrom brilliance back to gloom with fitful frequency. 

Daffodils and primroses were littered all around Avery, and a certainsubdued pleasure was hers as she decked the place with the springflowers. She was quite alone, for by the Vicar's inflexible decree allthe elder children, with the exception of Olive, were confined to theschoolroom for the morning with their respective tasks. 

The magnitude of these tasks had struck dismay to Avery's heart. She didnot privately believe that any one of them could ever be accomplished inthe prescribed time. But the day of reckoning was not yet, and she put itresolutely from her mind. It was useless to forestall trouble, and herown burden of toil that day demanded all her energies. 

The advent of Miss Whalley, thin and acid, put an end to all enjoymentthereof. She bestowed a cool greeting upon Avery, and came at once to herside to criticize her decoration of the font. Miss Whalley always assumedthe direction of affairs on these occasions, and she regarded Avery'sassistance in the place of Mrs. Lorimer's weak efforts in something ofthe light of an intrusion. 

Avery stood and listened to her suggestions with grave forbearance. Shenever disputed anything with Miss Whalley, which may have been in partthe reason for the latter's somewhat suspicious attitude towards her. 

They were still standing before the font while Miss Whalley unfolded herscheme when there came the sound of feet in the porch, and Lennox Tudorput his head in. 

His eyes fell at once upon Avery. He hesitated a moment then entered. 

She turned eagerly to meet him. "Oh, how is the Squire this morning? Haveyou been up to the Abbey yet?"

"The Squire!" echoed Miss Whalley. "Is he ill? I was not aware of it. "

Avery's eyes were fixed on Tudor's face, and all in a moment she realizedthat he had been up all night. 

He did not seem to notice Miss Whalley, but spoke to Avery, and to heralone. "I have just come back from the Abbey. The Squire died about anhour ago. "

"The Squire!" said Miss Whalley again, in staccato tones. 

Avery said nothing, but she turned suddenly white, so white that Tudorwas moved to compunction. 

"I shouldn't have blurted it out like that. Sit down! The poor old chapnever rallied really. He had a little talk with Piers half-an-hour or sobefore he went. But it was only the last flicker of the candle. Wecouldn't save him. "

He bent down over her. "Don't look like that! It wasn't your fault. Itwas bound to come. I've foreseen it for some little time. I told him itwas madness to go out riding as he did; but he wouldn't listen to me. Avery, I say! Avery!" His voice sank to an undertone. 

She forced her stiff lips to smile faintly in answer to the concern itheld. With an effort she commanded herself. 

"What of Piers?" she said. 

He stood up again with a sharp gesture, and turned from her to answerMiss Whalley's eager questions. 

"Surely it is very sudden!" the latter was saying. "How did it happen?Will there be an inquest?"

"There will not, " said Tudor curtly. "I have been attending the Squire, for some time, and I knew that sooner or later this would happen. TheVicar is not here?" He turned to Avery. "I promised to look in on him onmy way back. Shall I find him at the Vicarage?"

He was gone almost before she could answer, and Avery was left on theseat by the door, staring before her with a wildly throbbing heart, stillasking herself with a curious insistence, "What of Piers? What of Piers?"

Miss Whalley surveyed her with marked disapproval. She considered itgreat presumption on Avery's part to be upset by such a matter, and herattitude said as much as she walked with a stately air down the churchand commenced her own self-appointed task of decorating the pulpit. 

Avery did not stir for several seconds; and when she did it was to go tothe open door and stand there looking out into the spring sunshine. Shefelt strangely incapable of grasping what had happened. She could notrealize that that dominant personality that had striven with her onlyyesterday--only yesterday--had passed utterly away in a few hours. Itseemed incredible, beyond the bounds of possibility. Again and again SirBeverley's speech and look returned to her. How emphatic he had been, how resolutely determined to attain his end! He had discharged hisobligation, as he had said. He had paid his last debt. And in thepayment of it he had laid upon her a burden which she had felt compelledto accept. 

Would it prove too much for her, she wondered? Had she yet again taken afalse step that could never be retraced? Again the thought of Piers wentthrough her, piercing her like a sword. Piers alone! Piers in trouble!She wished that Dr. Tudor had answered her question even though sheregretted having asked it. How would he bear his solitude, she wonderedwith an aching heart; and a sudden great longing arose within her to goand comfort him, as she alone possessed the power to comfort. Allselfish considerations departed with the thought. She realizedpoignantly all that Sir Beverley had visualized when he had told herthat very soon his boy would be all alone. She knew fully why he hadpressed upon her the task of helping Piers through his dark hour. He hadknown--as she also knew--how sore would be his need of help. And asthis came home to her, her strength--that strength which was the patientbuilding of all the years of her womanhood--came back to her, and shefelt renewed and unafraid. 

She returned to her work with a steadfastness of purpose that evenMiss Whalley viewed with distant admiration; working throughout themorning while the minute bell tolled overhead, rendering honour to thedeparted Squire. 

When she left at length to return to the Vicarage for the midday meal, her portion was done. 

But it was not till night came again that she found time to write the fewbrief words that she had been revolving in her mind all day long. 

"DEAR PIERS, "I am thinking of you constantly, and longing to help you in yourtrouble. Let me know if there is anything whatever that I can do, and Ishall be ready at any time. 

"With love from Avery. "

Her face glowed softly over the writing of the note. She slipped out andposted it before she went to bed. 

He would get it in the morning, and he would be comforted. For he wouldunderstand. She was sure that he would understand. 

Of herself all through that second wakeful night she did not think atall, and so no doubts rose to torment her. She lay in a species of tiredwonder. She was keeping her promise to the dead man, and in the keepingof it there was peace. 

The great square Abbey pew at the top of the church was emptythroughout Easter Sunday. A heavy gloom reigned at the Vicarage. Averyand the children were in dire disgrace, and Mrs. Lorimer, spent most ofthe day in tears. She could not agree with the Vicar that they weredirectly responsible for the Squire's death. Dr. Tudor had been veryemphatic in assuring them that what had happened had been theinevitable outcome of a disease of long standing. But this assurancedid not in any way modify the Vicar's attitude, and he decided that thefive children should spend their time in solitary confinement untilafter the day fixed for the funeral. 

This was to be Easter Tuesday, and he himself had arranged to depart theday after--an event to which the entire household, with the singleexception of Olive, looked forward with the greatest eagerness. 

No message came from Piers that night, and Avery wondered a little, butwithout uneasiness. He must have so very much to think of and do at sucha time, she reflected. He would scarcely even have begun to feel thedreadful loneliness. 

But when the next day passed, and still no answer came, a vague anxietyawoke within her. Surely her message had reached him! Surely he must haveread it! The Piers she knew would have dashed off some species of replyat once. How was it he delayed?

The day of the funeral came, and the Easter flowers were all taken away. The Vicarage blinds were drawn, the bell tolled again, and Jeanie, weighed down with a dreadful sense of wickedness, lay face downwards onthe schoolroom sofa and wept and wept. 

Avery was very anxious about her. The disgrace and punishment of thepast few days had told upon her. She was sick with trouble anddepression, and Avery could find no means of comforting her. She hadmeant herself to slip out and to go to the funeral for Piers' sake, butshe felt she could not leave the child. So she sat with her in thedarkened room, listening to her broken sobbing, aware that in thesolitude of her room Gracie was crying too, and longing passionately togather together all five of the luckless offenders and deliver them fromtheir land of bondage. 

But there was to be no deliverance that day, nor any lightening of theburden. The funeral over, the Vicar returned and sent for each childseparately to the study for prayer and admonition. Jeanie was the last toface this ordeal and before it was half over Avery was sent for also tofind her lying on the study sofa in a dead faint. 

Avery's indignation was intense, but she could not give it vent. Even theVicar was a little anxious, and when Avery's efforts succeeded at lengthin restoring her, he reprimanded Jeanie severely and reduced her oncemore to tears of uncontrollable distress. 

The long, dreary day came to an end at last, and the thought of a happiermorrow comforted them all. But Avery, though she slept that night, wastroubled by a dream that came to her over and over again throughout thelong hours. She seemed to see Piers, as he had once described himself, aprisoner behind bars; and ever as she looked upon him he strove withgigantic efforts that were wholly vain, to force the bars asunder andcome to her. She could not help him, could not even hear his voice. Butthe agony of his eyes haunted her--haunted her. She awoke at last inanguish of spirit, and slept no more. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE SUMMONS

With the morning came a general feeling of relief. The Vicar was almostjocose, and Mrs. Lorimer made timid attempts to be mirthful though theparting with her children sorely tried her fortitude. 

The boys' spirits were subdued, but they burst forth uproariously as soonas the station-cab was well outside the gate. Ronald and Julian cheeredthemselves hoarse, and Pat scuttled off to the back of the house torelease Mike from his chain to participate in the great rejoicing. 

There was no disguising the fact that everyone was pleased--everyoneexcept Olive who went away to her father's study which had been leftin her especial charge, and locked herself in for a morning ofundisturbed reading. 

Avery could not feel joyful. The thought of Piers was still with hercontinually. She had heard so little of him--merely that he had followedhis grandfather to the grave supported by the old family solicitor fromWardenhurst, Lennox Tudor, and a miscellaneous throng of neighbours; thathe had borne himself without faltering, and had gone back to his solitudewith no visible sign of suffering. Only indirectly had she heard this, and she yearned to know more. 

She knew that like herself he was practically devoid of relatives, --thelast of his race, --a figure of splendid isolation that would appeal tomany. She knew that as a wealthy and unmarried baronet, he would begreatly sought after and courted; made much of by the whole county, andhalf London as well. He was so handsome, so romantic, so altogethereligible in every way. Was it for this that he had left that note ofhers unanswered? Did he think that now that his horizon had widened thenearer haven was hardly worth attaining? Above all, if he decided totake that which she had so spontaneously offered, would it satisfy him?Would he be content therewith? Had she not done better to have waitedtill he came again to ask of her that which she had till the day of hisbereavement withheld?

It was useless to torture herself with such questionings. Because of herpromise to the dead, she had acted, and she could now but await theresult of her action. If he never answered, --well, she would understand. 

So passed yet another day of silence. 

She was busy with the household accounts that night which Mrs. Lorimer inher woe had left in some confusion, and they kept her occupied till longafter the children had gone to bed, so late indeed that the servants alsohad retired and she was left alone in the dining-room to wrestle with herdifficulties. 

She found it next to impossible to straighten out the muddle, and shecame at length reluctantly to the conclusion that it was beyond herpowers. Wondering what the Reverend Stephen would have said to such acrime, she abstracted a few shillings from her own purse and fraudulentlymade up the deficit that had vexed Mrs. Lorimer's soul. 

"I can write and tell her now that it has come right, " she murmured toherself, as she rose from the table. 

It was close upon eleven o'clock. The house was shuttered and silent. Thestillness was intense; when suddenly, as she was in the act of lighting acandle, the electric bell pinged through the quiet of the night. 

She started and listened. The thought of Piers sprang instinctively toher mind. Could it be he? But surely even Piers would not come to her atthis hour! It must be some parishioner in need of help. 

She turned to answer the summons, but ere she reached the hall it wasrepeated twice, with nervous insistence. She hastened to withdraw thebolts and open the door. 

At once a voice accosted her, and a sharp pang of disappointment oranxiety, she knew not which, went through her. 

"Mrs. Denys, is she here?" it said. "May I speak with her?"

It was the unmistakable speech of a Frenchman. By the light of thehall-lamp, Avery saw the plump, anxious face and little pointed moustacheof the speaker. He entered uninvited and stood before her. 

"Ah! But you are Mrs. Denys!" he exclaimed with relief. "_Madame_, I begthat you will pardon me! I am come to you in distress the most profound. You will listen to me, yes?"

He regarded her with quick black eyes that both confided and besought. Avery's heart was beating in great throbs, she felt strangely breathlessand uncertain of herself. 

"Where do you come from?" she said. "Who are you?"

But she knew the answer before it came. "I am Victor, _madame_, --VictorLagarde. I am the valet of _Monsieur Pierre_ almost since he was born. Hecalls me his _bonne_!" A brief smile touched his worried countenance andwas gone. "And now I am come to you, _madame_, --not by his desire. _Maisnon_, he does not know even that I am here. But because he is in great, great misery, and I cannot console him. I have not the power. And he isall alone--all alone. And I fear--I fear--" He broke off with eloquenthands outspread. Avery saw the tears standing in his eyes. 

She closed the door softly. "What is it?" she said. "Tell me whatyou fear!"

He looked at her, mastering his emotion with difficulty. "_Madame, Monsieur Pierre_ has sentiments the most profound. Hefeel--_passionnément_. He try to hide his sentiments from me. But me--Iknow. He sit alone in the great hall and look--and look. He sleep--neverat all. He will not even go to bed. And in the great hall is an_escritoire_, and in it a drawer. " Victor's voice sank mysteriously. "To-night--when he think he is alone--he open that drawer, and I seeinside. It hold a revolver, _madame_. And he look at it, touch it, andthen shake his head. But I am so afraid--so afraid. So--_enfin_--in mytrouble I come to you. You have the influence with him, is it not so? Youhave--the power to console. _Madame--chère madame_--will you not comeand speak with him for five little minutes? Just to encourage him, _madame_, in his sadness; for he is all alone!"

The tears ran down Victor's troubled face as he made his earnest appeal. He mopped them openly, making no secret of his distress which was toopathetic to be ludicrous. 

Avery looked at him in dismay. She knew not what to say or do; and evenas she stood irresolute the hall-clock struck eleven through the silenceof the house. 

Victor watched her anxiously. "_Madame_ is married, " he insinuated. "Shecan please herself, no? And _Monsieur Pierre_--"

"Wait a minute, please!" she interrupted gently. "I want to think. "

She went to the unlatched door and stood with her face to the night. Shefelt as if a call had come to her, but somehow--for no selfishreason--she hesitated to answer. Some unknown influence held her back. 

Victor came softly up and stood close to her. "_Madame_, " he said in awhisper, "I tell you a secret--I, Victor, who have known _MonsieurPierre_ from his infancy. He loves you, _madame_. He loves you much. _C'est la grande passion_ which comes only once in a life--only once. "

The low words went through her, seeming to sink into her very heart. Shemade a slight, involuntary gesture as of wincing. There was something inthem that was almost more than she could bear. 

She stood motionless with the chill night air blowing in upon her, tryingto collect her thoughts, trying to bring herself to face and consider thematter before she made her decision. But it was useless. Those last wordshad awaked within her a greater force than she could control. From themoment of their utterance she was driven irresistibly, the decision wasno longer her own. 

Piers was alone. Piers loved her--wanted her. His soul cried to hersthrough the darkness. She saw him again as in her dream wrestling withthose cruel iron bars, striving with vain agony to reach her. And alldoubt went from her like a cloud. 

She turned to Victor with grey eyes shining and resolute. "Let usgo!" she said. 

She took a cloak from a peg in the hall, lowered the light, took the keyfrom the lock, and passed out into the dark. 

Victor followed her closely, softly latching the door behind him. He hadknown from the outset that the English _madame_ would not be able toresist his appeal. Was not _Monsieur Pierre_ as handsome and as desirableas though he had been a prince of the blood? He walked a pace behind her, saying no word, fully satisfied with the success of his mission. 

Avery went with swift unerring feet; yet it seemed to her afterwards asif she had moved in a dream, for only the vaguest impression of thatjourney through the night remained with her. It was dark, but thedarkness did not hinder her. She went as if drawn irresistibly--evenagainst her will. At the back of her mind hovered the consciousness thatshe was doing a rash thing, but the woman's heart in it was too deeplystirred to care for minor considerations. The picture of Piers in hislonely hall hung ever before her, drawing her on. 

He had not sent for her. She knew now that he would not send. Yet shewent to him on winged feet. For she knew that his need of her was great. 

There was no star in the sky and the night wind moaned in the trees asthey went up the long chestnut avenue to the Abbey. The loneliness wasgreat. It folded them in on every hand. It seemed to hang like a pallabout the great dim building massed against the sky, as though the wholeplace lay beneath a spell of mourning. 

Emerging from the deep shadow of the trees, she paused for the first timein uncertainty. Victor pressed forward instantly to her side. 

"We will enter by the library, _madame_. See, I will show you the way. From there to the great hall, it is only a few steps. And you will findhim there. I leave you alone to find him. "

He led her across a dew-drenched lawn and up a flight of steps to thedoor of a conservatory which gave inwards at his touch. 

Obedient to his gesture, Avery entered. Her heart was beating hard andfast. She was conscious of a wild misgiving which had not assailed herduring all the journey thither. What if he did not want her after all?What if her coming were unwelcome?

Silently Victor piloted her, and she could not choose but follow, thoughshe felt sick with the sudden apprehension that had sprung to life as sheleft the sleeping world outside. She seemed to be leaving her freedom, all she valued, behind her as she entered this shadowy prison. And allfor what? Her quivering heart could find no answer. 

There was a heavy scent of hothouse flowers in the air. She almostgasped for breath in the exotic fragrance of the unseen blossoms. Astrong impulse possessed her to turn and flee by the way she had come. 

"_Madame!_" It was Victor's voice, low and entreating. He had opened aninner door, and stood waiting for her. 

Had he seen her wavering resolution, she wondered? Was he trying tohasten her ere it should wholly evaporate--to close the way of escapeere she could avail herself of it? Or was he anxious solely on Piers'account--lest after all she might arrive too late?

She could not determine, but the urgency of his whisper moved her. Shepassed him and entered the room beyond. 

It was dimly lighted by a single shaded electric lamp that illumined awriting-table. She saw that it was the ancient library of the Abbey, awonderful apartment which she knew to contain an almost pricelesscollection of old parchments. It was lined with bookshelves and had themusty smell inseparable from aged bindings. 

Victor motioned her silently to a door at the further end, but beforeeither of them could reach it there came a sudden footfall on the otherside, the handle turned sharply, and it opened. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Victor, and fell back as one caught red-handed in acrime. 

Avery stood quite motionless with her heart beating up against herthroat, and a tragic sense of trespass overwhelming her. She could notfind a single word to say, so sudden and so terrible was the ordeal. Shecould only wait in silence. 

Piers stood still as one transfixed, with eyes that blazed sleepless outof a drawn, pale face; then at length with a single snap of the fingersimperiously he dismissed Victor by the still open door. 

It closed discreetly upon the Frenchman's exit, and then only did Piersmove forward; he came to Avery, drew her to a chair, knelt mutely downbefore her, and bowed his head upon her lap. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

"LA GRANDE PASSION"

She spoke to him at last, half-frightened by his silence, yet by hisattitude wholly reassured. For he wanted her still, of that no doubtremained. His hands were clasped behind her. He could have held her inhis arms; but he did not. He only knelt there at her feet in uttersilence, his black head pillowed on her hands. 

"Piers!" she said. "Piers! Let me help you!"

He groaned in answer, and she felt a great shiver run through him. Sheknew intuitively that he was battling for self-control and dared not forthe moment show his face. 

"You--can't, " he said at last. 

"But I think I can, " she urged gently. "It isn't so very long ago thatyou wanted me. "

"I was an infernal blackguard to tell you so!" he made answer. 

And then suddenly his arms tightened about her, and he held her fast. "That you--you, Avery, --should come to me--like this!" he said. 

She freed one of her hands and laid it on his bent head. "Shall I tellyou what made me come, Piers?"

He shook his head in silence, but there was passion in the holdingof his arms. 

For a space he continued to hold her so, speaking no word, and throughhis silence there came to her the quick, fierce beat of his heart. Thenat length very suddenly, almost with violence, he flung his arms wideand started to his feet. 

"Avery, " he said, "you were a saint to come to me like this. I shan'tforget it ever. But there's nothing--nothing you can do, except leave meto my own devices. It's only just at first, you know, that the lonelinessseems so--awful. " His voice shook unexpectedly; he swung round away fromher and walked to the end of the room. 

He came back almost immediately and stood before her. "Victor was acriminal fool to bring you here. He meant well though. He always does. That note of yours--I ought to have answered it. I was just coming inhere to do so. I shouldn't have kept you waiting so long, butsomehow--somehow--" Again, in spite of him, his voice quivered. He turnedsharply and walked to the fireplace, leaned his arms upon it, and stoodso, his back to her, his head bent. 

"It was so awfully good of you, " he went on after a moment. "You alwayshave been--awfully good. My grandfather realized that, you know. I thinkhe told you so, didn't he? He wasn't really sorry that I wouldn't marryIna Rose. By the way, she is engaged to Dick Guyes already, so there wasnot much damage done in that direction. I told you it was nothing but agame, didn't I? You didn't quite believe me, what?"

It came to her that he was talking to gain time, that he was trying tomuster strength to give the lie to the passion that had throbbed in theholding of his arms, that for some reason he deemed it incumbent upon himto mask his feelings and hide from her the misery that had driven Victorin search of her. 

She rose quietly and moved across the room till she stood beside him. "Piers, " she said, "tell me what is wrong!"

He stiffened at her approach, straightened himself, faced her. "Avery, " he said, "do you know, dear, it would be better if you wentstraight back again? I hate to say it. It was so dear of you, so--so--great of you to come. But--no, there's nothing wrong, --nothingthat is, that hasn't been wrong for ages. Fact is, I'm not fit tospeak to you, never have been; far less make love to you. And I was acur and a brute to do it. I've had a bit of a shake-up lately. It'smade me feel my responsibilities, see things as they are. I've got anawful lot to see to just now. I'm going to work mighty hard. I mustn'tthink of--other things. "

He stopped. He was looking at her, looking at her, with the red fire ofpassion kindling in his eyes, a gleam so fierce and so insistent that shewas forced to lower her own. It was as if his soul cried out to her allthat he restrained his lips from uttering. 

He saw her instinctive avoidance of his gaze, and turned away from her, leaning again upon the mantelpiece as if spent. 

"I can't help it, Avery. I'm so dog-tired, and I can't sleep. I'mhorribly sorry, but I'm nothing but a brute-beast to-night. Really--really--you had better go. "

There was desperation in his voice. He bowed his head upon his arms, andshe saw that his hands were clenched. 

But she could not leave him so. That inner urging that had impelled herthither warned her to remain, even against her own judgment, even againsther will. The memory of Victor's fears came back to her. She could notturn and go. 

"My dear boy, " she said, speaking very gently, "do you think I don't knowthat you are miserable, lonely, wretched? That is why I am here!"

"God knows how lonely!" he whispered. 

Her heart stirred within her at the desolation of the words. "Nearly allof us go through it some time, " she said gently. "And if there isn't afriend to stand by, it's very hard to bear. That is the part I want toplay--if you will let me. Won't you treat me as a friend?"

But Piers neither moved nor spoke. With his head still upon his arms hestood silent. 

She drew nearer to him. "Piers, I think I understand. I think you are alittle afraid of going too far, of--of--" her voice faltered a little inspite of her--"of hurting my feelings. Is that it? Because, --mydear, --you needn't be afraid any longer. If you really think I can makeyou happy, I am willing--quite willing--to try. "

The words were spoken, and with them she offered all she had, freely, generously, with a quick love that was greater possibly than even sherealized. 

She was standing close to him waiting for him to turn and clasp her inhis arms, as he had so nearly clasped her once against her will. Butseconds passed and he did not move, and a cold foreboding began to knockat her heart lest after all--lest after all--his love for her had waned. 

He stirred at last, just as she was on the point of turning from him, stretched out a groping hand that found and drew her to his side. Butstill he did not look at her or so much as raise his head. 

He spoke after a moment in a choked voice that seemed to be wrung fromhim by sheer physical torture. "Avery, don't--don't tempt me. I--daren't!"

The anguish of the words went through her, banishing all thought ofanything else. Very suddenly she knew that he was fighting a desperatebattle for her sake, that he was striving with all the strength that wasin him to set her happiness before his own. And something that wasgreater than pity entered into her with the knowledge, something so greatas to be all-possessing, compelling her to instant action. 

She slipped her arm about his bent shoulders with a gesture of infinitetenderness. "Piers--dear boy, what is it?" she said softly. "Is theresome trouble in your past--something you can't bear to speak of?Remember, I am not a girl, I may understand--some things--better thanyou think. "

She felt his hold upon her tighten almost convulsively, but for a whilehe made no answer. 

Then at length slowly he raised his head and looked at her. "Doyou--really--think the past matters?" he said. 

She met his eyes with their misery and their longing, and a tremor ofuncertainty went through her. 

"Tell me, Avery!" he insisted. "If you felt yourself able to get awayfrom old burdens, and if--if there was no earthly reason why they shouldhamper your future--" He broke off, and again his arm tightened. "It'sdamnable that they should!" he muttered savagely. 

"My dear, I don't know how to answer you, " she said. "Are--you afraid tobe open with me? Do you think I shouldn't understand?"

His eyes fell abruptly. "I am quite sure, " he said, "that it would beeasier for me to give you up. " And with that he suddenly set her free andstood up before her straight and stiff. "Let me see you home!" he said. 

They faced one another in the dimness, and Avery marked afresh theweariness of his face. He looked like a man who had come through manydays and nights of suffering. 

He glanced up as she did not speak. "Shall we go?" he said. 

But Avery stood hesitating, asking herself if this could indeed be theend, if the impulse that had drawn her thither had been after all amistaken one, or if even yet it might not carry her further than she hadever thought to go. 

He turned towards the conservatory door by which she had entered, andquietly opened it. A soft wind blew through to her, laden with the scentof the wet earth and a thousand opening buds. It seemed to carry thepromise of eternal hope on unseen wings straight to her heart. 

Slowly she followed him across the room, reached him, passed through intothe scented darkness. A few steps more and she would have been in theopen air, but she was uncertain of the way. The place was too dim for herto see it. She paused for him to guide her. 

The door closed behind her; she heard it softly swing on its hinges, andthen came his light footfall close to her. 

"Straight on!" he said, and his voice sounded oddly cold and constrained. "There are three steps at the end. Be careful how you go! Perhaps youwould rather wait while I fetch a light. "

His tone hurt her subtly, wounding her more deeply than she had realizedthat he had it in his power to wound. 

She moved forward blindly with a strangled sensation at her throat and arush of hot tears in her eyes. She had never dreamed that Piers--thewarm-hearted, the eager--had it in him to treat her so. 

The instinct to escape awoke within her. She quickened her steps andreached the further door. Before her lay the open night, immense andquiet and very dark. She pressed forward, hoping he would not follow, longing only for solitude and silence. 

But in her agitation she forgot his warning, forgot to tread warily, andmissed her footing on the steps. She slipped with a sharp exclamation andwent down, catching vainly at the door-post to save herself. 

Piers exclaimed also, and sprang forward. His arms were about her beforeshe reached the ground. He lifted her bodily ere she could recover herbalance; and suddenly she knew that with the touch of her the fire of hispassion had burst into scorching flame--knew herself powerless--a womanin the hold of her captor. 

For he held her so fast that she gasped for breath, and with her headpressed back against his shoulder, he kissed her on the lips, fiercely, violently, hungrily--kissed her eyes, her hair, and again her lips, sealing them closely with his own, making protest impossible. Neithercould she resist him, for he held her gathered up against his heart, bearing her whole weight with a strength that mocked her weakness, compelling her to lie at his mercy while the wild storm of his passionswept on its way. 

She was as one caught in the molten stream of a volcano, andcarried by the fiery current that seethed all about her, consumingher with its heat. 

Once when his lips left hers she tried to whisper his name, to call himback from his madness; but her voice was gone. She could only gasp andgasp till with an odd, half-savage laugh he silenced her again with thoseburning kisses that made her feel that he had stormed his way to the lastand inner sanctuary of her soul, depriving her even of the right todispute his overwhelming possession. 

Later it seemed to her that she must have been near to fainting, forthough she knew that he bore her inwards from the open door she could notso much as raise a hand in protest. She was utterly spent and almostbeyond caring, so complete had been his conquest. When he set her on herfeet she tottered, clinging to him nervelessly for support. 

He kept his arm about her, but his hold was no longer insistent. She wasaware of his passion still; it seemed to play around her like a lambentflame; but the first fierce flare was past. He spoke to her at last in avoice that was low but not without the arrogance of the conqueror. 

"Are you very angry with me, I wonder?"

She did not answer him, for still she could not. 

He went on, a vein of recklessness running through his speech. "It won'tmake any difference if you are. Do you understand? I've tried to let yougo, but I can't. I must have you or die. "

He paused a moment, and it seemed as if the tornado of his passion weresweeping back again; but, curiously, he checked it. 

"That's how it is with me, Avery, " he said. "The fates have played aghastly joke on me, but you are mine in spite of it. You came to tell meso; didn't you?"

Was there a note of pleading in his voice? She fancied so; but still shecould not speak in answer. She leaned against him with every pulsethrobbing. She dared not turn her face to his. 

"Are you afraid of me, Avery?" he said, and this time surely she heard afaint echo of that boyish humour that had first won her. "Because it'sall right, dear, " he told her softly. "I've got myself in hand now. Youknow, I couldn't hold you in my arms just then and not--not kiss you. Youdon't hate me for it, do you? You--understand?"

Yes, she understood. Yet she felt as if he had raised a barrier betweenthem which nothing could ever take away. She tried to ignore it, butcould not. The glaring fact that he had not cared how much or how littleshe had desired those savage kisses of his had begun already to tormenther, and she knew that she would carry the scorching memory of thosemoments with her for the rest of her life. 

She drew herself slowly from him. "I am going now, " she said. 

He put out a hand that trembled and laid it on her shoulder. "If I willlet you go, Avery!" he said, and she was again aware of the leaping ofthe flame that had scarcely died down but a moment before. 

She straightened herself and resolutely faced him. "I am going, Piers, " she said. 

His hand tightened sharply. He caught his breath for a few tense seconds. Then very slowly his hold relaxed; his hand fell. "You will let me seeyou back, " he said, and she knew by his voice that he was putting strongforce upon himself. 

She turned. "No. I will go alone. "

He did not move. "Please, Avery!" he said. 

Her heart gave a quick throb at the low-spoken words. She paused almostinvoluntarily, realizing with a great rush of thankfulness that he wouldnot stir a step to follow unless she gave him leave. 

For an instant she stood irresolute. Then: "Come if you wish!" she said. 

She heard him move, and herself passed on, descending the steps into thedewy garden with again that odd feeling of unreality, almost as if shewalked in a dream. 

He came behind her, silent as a shadow, and not till she deliberatelywaited for him did he overtake and walk beside her. 

No words passed between them as they went. They seemed to move through aworld of shadows, --a spell-bound, waiting world. And gradually, as if asoothing hand had been laid upon her, Avery felt the wild tumult at herheart subside. She remembered that he had refrained himself almost at herfirst word, and slowly her confidence came back. He had appealed to herto understand, and she could not let his appeal go wholly unanswered. 

As they passed at length through the gate that led into the Vicaragelane, she spoke. "Piers, I am not angry. "

"Aren't you?" he said, and by the eager relief of his voice she knew thather silence had been hard to bear. 

She put out a hand to him as they walked. "But, Piers, that--is not theway to make me love you. "

"I know--I know, " he said quickly; and then haltingly: "I've been--sobeastly lonely, Avery. Make allowances for me--forgive me!"

He had not taken her hand; she slipped it into his. "I do, " she saidsimply. She felt his fingers close tensely, but in a moment they openedagain and set her free. 

He did not utter another word, merely walked on beside her till theyreached the Vicarage gate. She thought he would have left her there, buthe did not. They went up the drive together to the porch. 

From his kennel at the side of the house Mike barked a sharp challengethat turned into an unmistakable note of welcome as they drew near. Averysilenced him with a reassuring word. 

She found the key, and in the darkness of the porch she began to fumblefor the lock. 

Piers stooped. "Let me!"

She gave him the key, and as she stood up again she noted the brightnessof the fanlight over the floor. She thought that she had lowered thelight at leaving; she had certainly intended to do so. 

Very softly Piers opened the door. It swung noiselessly back upon itshinges, and the full light smote upon them. 

In the same instant a slim, white figure came calmly forward through thehall and stopped beneath the lamp. 

Olive Lorimer, pale, severe, with fixed, accusing eyes, stoodconfronting them. 

"Mrs. Denys!" she said, in accents of frozen surprise. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES

The encounter was so amazing, so utterly unlooked for, that Avery had amoment of downright consternation. The child's whole air and expressionwere so exactly reminiscent of her father that she almost felt as if shestood before the Vicar himself--a culprit caught in a guilty act. 

She looked at Olive without words, and Olive looked straight back at herwith that withering look of the righteous condemning the ungodly which sooften regarded a dumb but rebellious congregation through the Vicar'sstern eyes. 

Piers, however, was not fashioned upon timid lines, and he stepped intothe hall without the faintest sign of embarrassment. 

"Hullo, little girl!" he said. "Why aren't you in bed?"

The accusing eyes turned upon him. Olive seemed to swell withindignation. "I was in bed long ago, " she made answer, still in thosefrozen tones. "May I ask what you are doing here, Mr. Evesham?"

"I?" said Piers jauntily. "Now what do you suppose?"

"I cannot imagine, " the child said. 

"Not really?" said Piers. "Well, perhaps when you are a little olderyour imagination will develop. In the meantime, if you are a wiselittle girl, you will run back to bed and leave your elders to settletheir own affairs. "

Olive drew herself up with dignity. "It is not my intention to go solong as you are in the house, " she said with great distinctness. 

"Indeed!" said Piers. "And why not?"

He spoke with the utmost quietness, but Avery caught the faintest tremorin his voice that warned her that Olive was treading dangerous ground. 

She hastened to intervene. "But of course you are going now, " she said tohim. "It is bedtime for us all. Good-night! And thank you for walkinghome with me!"

Her own tone was perfectly normal. She turned to him with outstretchedhand, but he put it gently aside. 

"One minute!" he said. "I should like an answer to my question first. Whyare you so determined to see me out of the house?"

He looked straight at Olive as he spoke, no longer careless of mien, butimplacable as granite. 

Olive, however, was wholly undismayed. She was the only one of theVicar's children who had never had cause to feel a twinge of fear. "Youhad better ask yourself that question, " she said, in her cool youngtreble. "You probably know the answer better than I do. "

Piers' expression changed. For a single instant he looked furious, but hemastered himself almost immediately. "It's a lucky thing for you that youare not my little girl, " he observed grimly. "If you were, you shouldhave the slapping of your life to-night. As it is, --well, you have askedme for an explanation of my presence here, and you shall have one. I amhere in the capacity of escort to Mrs. Denys. Have you any fault to findwith that?"

Olive returned his look steadily with her cold grey eyes while sheconsidered his words. She seemed momentarily at a loss for an answer, butPiers' first remarks were scarcely of a character to secure goodwill orallay suspicion. She rapidly made up her mind. 

"I shall tell Miss Whalley in the morning, " she said. "My father said Iwas to go to her if anything went wrong. " She added, with a malevolentglance towards Avery, "I suppose you know that Mrs. Denys is under noticeto leave at the end of her month?"

Piers glanced at Avery too--a glance of swift interrogation. She noddedvery slightly in answer. 

He looked again at Olive with eyes that gleamed in a fashion that fewcould have met without quailing. 

"Is she indeed?" he said. "I venture to predict that she will leavebefore then. If you are anxious to impart news to Miss Whalley, you maytell her also that Mrs. Denys is going to be my wife, and that themarriage will take place--" he looked at Avery again and all the hardnesswent out of his face--"just as soon as she will permit. "

Dead silence followed the announcement. Avery's face was pale, but therewas a faint smile at her lips. She met Piers' look without a tremor. Sheeven drew slightly nearer to him; and he, instantly responding, slipped aswift hand through her arm. 

Olive, sternly judicial, stood regarding them in silence, for perhaps ascore of seconds. And then, still undismayed, she withdrew her forces ingood order from the field. 

"In that case, " she said, with the air of one closing a discussion, "there is nothing further to be said. I suppose Mrs. Denys wishes tobe Lady Evesham. My father told me she was an adventuress. I see hewas right. "

She went away with this parting shot, stepping high and holding herhead poised loftily--an absurd parody of the Vicar in his mostclerical moments. 

Avery gave a little hysterical gasp of laughter as she passed out ofsight. 

Piers' arm was about her in a moment. He held her against his heart. "What a charming child, what?" he murmured. 

She hid her face on his shoulder. "I think myself she was in the right, "she said, still half laughing. "Piers, you must go. "

"In a moment. Let me hear from your own dear lips first that you arenot--not angry?" He spoke the words softly into her ear. There was onlytenderness in the holding of his arms. 

"I am not, " she whispered back. 

"Nor sorry?" urged Piers. 

She turned her face a little towards him. "No, dear, not a bitsorry; glad!"

He held her more closely but with reverence. "Avery, you don't--loveme, do you?"

"Of course I do!" she said. 

"There can't be any 'of course' about it, " he declared almost fiercely. "I've been a positive brute to you. Avery--Avery, I'll never be a bruteto you again. "

And there he stopped, for her arms were suddenly about his neck, her lipsraised in utter surrender to his. 

"Oh, Piers, " she said in a voice that thrilled him through and through, "do you think I would have less of your love--even if it hurts me? It isthe greatest thing that has ever come into my life. "

He held her head between his hands and looked into her eyes of perfecttrust. "Avery! Avery!" he said. 

"I mean it!" she told him earnestly. "I have been drawing nearer to youall the while--in spite of myself--though I tried so hard to hold back. Piers, my past life is a dream, and this--this is the awaking. You askedme--a long while ago--if the past mattered. I couldn't answer you then. Iwas still half-asleep. But now--now you have worked the miracle--my heartis awake, dear, and I will answer you. The past is nothing to you or me. It matters--not--one--jot!"

Her words throbbed into the silence of his kiss. He held her long andclosely. Once--twice--he tried to speak to her and failed. In the end hegave himself up mutely to the rapture of her arms. But his own wildpassion had sunk below the surface. He sought no more than she offered. 

"Say good-bye to me now!" she whispered at length; and he kissed heragain closely, lingeringly, and let her go. 

She stood in the doorway as he passed into the night, and his last sightof her was thus, silhouetted against the darkness, a tall, graciousfigure, bending forward to discern him in the dimness. 

He went back to his lonely home, back to the echoing emptiness, thelistening dark. He entered again the great hall where Sir Beverley hadbeen wont to sit and wait for him. 

Victor was on the watch. He glided apologetically forward with shining, observant eyes upon his young master's weary face. 

"_Monsieur Pierre_!" he said insinuatingly. 

Piers looked at him heavily. "Well?"

"I have put some refreshment for you in the dining-room. It ismore--more comfortable, " said Victor, gently indicating the opendoor. "Will you not--when you have eaten--go to bed, _mon cher, etpeut-être dormir_?"

Very wistfully the little man proffered his suggestion. His eyes followedPiers' movements with the dumb worship of an animal. 

"Oh yes, I'll go to bed, " said Piers. 

He turned towards the dining-room and entered. There was no elation inhis step; rather he walked as a man who carries a heavy burden, andVictor marked the fact with eyes of keen anxiety. 

He followed him in and poured out a glass of wine, setting it before himwith a professional adroitness that did not conceal his solicitude. 

Piers picked up the glass almost mechanically, and in doing so caughtsight of some letters lying on the table. 

"Oh, damn!" he said wearily. "How many more?"

There were bundles of them on the study writing-table. They poured in byevery post. 

Victor groaned commiseratingly. "I will take them away, yes?" hesuggested. "You will read them in the morning--when you have slept. "

"Yes, take 'em away!" said Piers. "Stay a minute! What's that top one?I'll look at that. "

He took up the envelope. It was addressed in a man's square, firm writingto "Piers Evesham, Esq. , Rodding Abbey. "

"Someone who doesn't know, " murmured Piers, and slit it open with a senseof relief. Some of the letters of condolence that he had received hadbeen as salt rubbed into a wound. 

He took out the letter and glanced at the signature: "Edmund Crowther!"

Suddenly a veil seemed to be drawn across his eyes. He looked up with asharp, startled movement, and through a floating mist he saw hisgrandmother's baffling smile from the canvas on the wall. The blood wassinging in his ears. He clenched his hands involuntarily. Crowther! Hehad forgotten Crowther! And Crowther knew--how much?

But he had Crowther's promise of secrecy, so--after all--what had he tofear? Nothing--nothing! Yet he felt as if a devil were laughing somewherein the room. They had caught him, they had caught him, there at the verygates of deliverance. They were dragging him back to his place oftorment. He could hear the clanking of the chains which he had so nearlyburst asunder, could feel them coiling cold about his heart. For he alsowas bound by a promise, the keeping of which meant utter destruction toall he held good in life. 

And not that alone. It meant the rending in pieces of that which washoly, the trampling into the earth of that sacred gift which had onlynow been bestowed upon him. It meant the breaking of a woman'sheart--that of the only woman in the world, the woman he worshipped, bodyand soul, the woman who in spite of herself had come to love him also. 

He flung up his arms with a wild gesture. The torment was more than hecould bear. 

"No!" he cried. "No!" And it was as if he cried out of the midst of aburning, fiery furnace. "I'm damned--I'm damned if I will!"

_"Monsieur Pierre! Monsieur Pierre!"_ It was Victor's voice beside him, full of anxious remonstrance. 

He looked round with dazed eyes. His arms fell to his sides. "All right, my good Victor; I'm not mad, " he said. "Don't be scared! Did you everhear of a chap called Damocles? He's an ancestor of mine, and history hasa funny fashion of repeating itself. But there'll be a difference thistime all the same. He couldn't eat his dinner for fear of a naked swordfalling on his head. But I'm going to eat mine--whatever happens; andenjoy it too. "

He raised his glass aloft with a reckless laugh. His eyes sought those ofthe woman on the wall with a sparkle of bitter humour. He made her abrief, defiant bow. 

"And you, madam, may look on--and smile!" he said. 

He drank the wine without tasting it and swung round to depart. Andagain, as he went, it seemed to him that somewhere near at hand--possiblyin his own soul--a devil laughed and gibed. 

Yet when he lay down at length, he slept for many hours in dreamless, absolute repose--as a voyager who after long buffeting with wind and tidehas come at last into the quiet haven of his desire. 

PART II

THE PLACE OF TORMENT

CHAPTER I

DEAD SEA FRUIT

"I doubt if the County will call, " said Miss Whalley, "unless the factthat Sir Piers is to stand for the division weighs with them. And ColonelRose's patronage may prove an added inducement. He probably knows thatthe young man has simply married this Mrs. Denys out of pique, since hisown charming daughter would have none of him. I must say that personallyI am not surprised that Miss Rose should prefer marriage with a man ofsuch sterling worth as Mr. Guyes. Sir Piers may be extremely handsome andfascinating; but no man with those eyes could possibly make a goodhusband. I hear it is to be a very grand affair indeed, dear Mrs. Lorimer, --far preferable in my opinion to the hole-in-a-corner sort ofceremony that took place this morning. "

"They both of them wished it to be as quiet as possible, " murmured Mrs. Lorimer. "She being a widow and he--poor lad!--in such deep mourning. "

"Indecent haste, I call it, " pronounced Miss Whalley severely, "with theearth still fresh on his poor dear grandfather's grave! A May weddingtoo! Most unsuitable!"

"He said he was so lonely, " pleaded Mrs. Lorimer gently. "And after allit was what his grandfather wished, --so he told me. "

Miss Whalley gave a high-bred species of snort. "My dear Mrs. Lorimer, that young man would tell you anything. Why, his grandfather was aninveterate woman-hater, as all the world knows. "

"I know, " agreed Mrs. Lorimer. "That was really what made it soremarkable. I assure you, Miss Whalley, --Piers came to me only last nightand told me with tears in his eyes--that just at the last poor SirBeverley said to him: 'I believe you've pitched on the right woman afterall, lad. Anyway, she cares for you--more than ordinary. Marry her asquick as you can--and my blessing on you both!' They were almost the lastwords he spoke, " said Mrs. Lorimer, wiping her own eyes. "I thought itwas so dear of Piers to tell me. "

"No doubt, " sniffed Miss Whalley. "He is naturally anxious to secureyour goodwill. But I wonder very much what point of view the dear Vicartakes of the matter. If I mistake not, he took Mrs. Denys's measure sometime ago. "

"Did he?" said Mrs. Lorimer vaguely. 

Miss Whalley looked annoyed. The Vicar's wife obviously lacked sufficientbackbone to quarrel on the subject. She was wont to say that she detestedinvertebrate women. 

"I think the Vicar was not altogether surprised, " Mrs. Lorimer went on, in her gentle, conversational way. "You see, Piers had been somewhatassiduous for some time. I myself, however, did not fancy that dear Averywished to encourage him. "

"Pooh!" said Miss Whalley. "It was the chance of her life. "

A faint flush rose in Mrs. Lorimer's face. "She is a dear girl, " shesaid. "I don't know what I shall do without her. "

"The children are getting older now, " said Miss Whalley. "Jeanie ought tobe able to take her place to a very great extent. "

"My little Jeanie is not strong, " murmured Mrs. Lorimer. "She does whatshe can, but her lessons tire her so. She never has much energy left, poor child. She has not managed to finish her holiday-task yet, and itoccupies all her spare time. I told the Vicar that I really did not thinkshe was equal to it. But--" the sentence went into a heavy sigh, andfurther words failed. 

"The Vicar is always very judicious with his children, " observedMiss Whalley. 

"He does not err on the side of mercy, " said his wife pathetically. "Andhe does not seem to realize that Jeanie lacks the vitality of theothers, --though how they ever got through their tasks I can't imagine. Itmust have been dear Avery's doing. She is a genius with children. Theyall managed it but poor Jeanie. How ever we shall get on without her Icannot think. "

"But she was under notice to go, I am told, " observed Miss Whalley. 

"Yes, --yes, I know. But I had hoped that the Vicar might relent. You see, she has been invaluable to us in so many ways. However, I hope when shecomes back that we shall see a great deal of her. She is so good to thechildren and they adore her. "

"I doubt if she will have much time to bestow upon them if the Countyreally do decide to accept her, " remarked Miss Whalley. "You forget thatshe is now Lady Evesham, my dear Mrs. Lorimer, and little likely toremember old friends now that she has attained the summit of herambition. "

"I don't think Avery would forget us if she became a royal princess, "said Mrs. Lorimer, with a confidence that Miss Whalley found peculiarlyirritating. 

"Ah well, we shall see, we shall see!" she said. "I for one shall beextremely surprised if she elects to remain on the same intimate footing. From mother's help at the Vicarage to Lady Evesham of Rodding Abbey is aconsiderable leap, and she will be scarcely human if it does not turnher head. "

But Mrs. Lorimer merely smiled and said no more. She knew how littleAvery was drawn by pomp and circumstance, but she would not vaunt herknowledge before one so obviously incapable of understanding. In silenceshe let the subject pass. 

"And where is the honeymoon to be spent?" enquired Miss Whalley, who wasthere to glean information and did not mean to go empty away. 

But Mrs. Lorimer shook her head. "Even I don't know that. Piers had awhim to go just where they fancied. They will call for letters at certainpost-offices on certain days; but he did not want to feel bound to stayat any particular place. Where they are at the present moment or wherethey will spend to-night, I have not the faintest idea. Nobody knows!"

"How extremely odd!" sniffed Miss Whalley. "But young Evesham always wasso ill-balanced and eccentric. Is it true that Dr. Tudor went to thewedding this morning?"

"Quite true, " said Mrs. Lorimer. "I thought it was so kind of him. Hearrived a little late. Avery did not know he was there until it was over. But he came forward then and shook hands with them both and wished themhappiness. He and young Mr. Guyes, who supported Piers, were the only twopresent besides the Eveshams' family solicitor from Wardenhurst andourselves. I gave the dear girl away, " said Mrs. Lorimer with gentlepride. "And my dear husband conducted the service so impressively. "

"I am sure he would, " said Miss Whalley. "But I think it was unfortunatethat so much secrecy was observed. People are so apt to talkuncharitably. It was really most indiscreet. "

Could she have heard the remark which Piers was making at that identicalmoment to his bride, she would have understood one of the main reasonsfor his indiscretion. 

They were sitting in the deep, deep heart of a wood--an enchanted woodthat was heavy with the spring fragrance of the mountain-ash, --and Piers, the while he peeled a stick with the deftness of boyhood, observed withmuch complacence: "Well, we've done that old Whalley chatterbox out of atreat anyway. Of all the old parish gossips, that woman is the worst. Inever pass her house without seeing her peer over her blind. She alwayslooks at me with a suspicious, disapproving eye. It's rather a shame, youknow, " he wound up pathetically, "for she has only once in her life foundme out, and that was a dozen years ago. "

Avery laughed a little. "I don't think she approves of any men exceptthe clergy. "

"Oh yes, she clings like a leech to the skirts of the Church, " said Piersirreverently. "There are plenty of her sort about--wherever there areparsons, in fact. Of course it's the parsons' fault. If they didn'tencourage 'em they wouldn't be there. "

"I don't know that, " said Avery, with a smile. "I think you're a littlehard on parsons. "

"Do you? Well, I don't know many. The Reverend Stephen is enough for me. I fight shy of all the rest. "

"My dear, how very narrow of you!" said Avery. 

He turned to her boyishly. "Don't tell me you want to be a female curatelike the Whalley! I couldn't bear it!"

"I haven't the smallest leaning in that direction, " Avery assured him. "But at the same time, one of my greatest friends is about to enter theChurch, and I do want you to meet and like him. "

A sudden silence followed her words. Piers resumed the peeling of hisstick with minute attention. "I am sure to like him if you do, " heremarked, after a moment. 

She touched his arm lightly. "Thank you, dear. He is an Australian, andthe very greatest-hearted man I ever met. He stood by me in a time ofgreat trouble. I don't know what I should have done without him. I hopehe won't feel hurt, but I haven't even told him of my marriage yet. "

"We have been married just ten hours, " observed Piers, still intentupon his task. 

She laughed again. "Yes, but it is ten days since we became engaged, andI owe him a letter into the bargain. He wanted to arrange to meet me intown one day; but he is still too busy to fix a date. He is studyingvery hard. "

"What's his name?" said Piers. 

"Crowther--Edmund Crowther. He has been a farmer for years inQueensland. " Avery, paused a moment. "It was he who broke the news to meof my husband's death, " she said, in a low voice. "I told you aboutthat, Piers. "

"You did, " said Piers. 

His tone was deliberately repressive, and a little quiver ofdisappointment went through Avery. She became silent, and the magicof the woods closed softly in upon them. Evening was drawing on, andthe long, golden rays of sunshine lay like a benediction over thequiet earth. 

The silence between them grew and expanded into something of a barrier. From her seat on a fallen tree Avery gazed out before her. She could notsee Piers' face which was bent above the stick which he had begun towhittle with his knife. He was sitting on the ground at her feet, andonly his black head was visible to her. 

Suddenly, almost fiercely, he spoke. "I know Edmund Crowther. "

Avery's eyes came down to him in astonishment. "You know him!"

"Yes, I know him. " He worked furiously at his stick without looking up. His words came in quick jerks, as if for some reason he wanted to getthem spoken without delay. "I met him years ago. He did me a goodturn--helped me out of a tight corner. A few weeks ago--when I was atMonte Carlo with my grandfather--I met him again. He told me then thathe knew you. Of course it was a rum coincidence. Heaven only knows whatmakes these things happen. You needn't write to him, I will. "

He ceased to speak, and suddenly Avery saw that his hands weretrembling--trembling violently as the hands of a man with an ague. Shewatched them silently, wondering at his agitation, till Piers, becomingaware of her scrutiny, abruptly flung aside the stick upon which he hadbeen expending so much care and leaped to his feet with a laugh thatsounded oddly strained to her ears. 

"Come along!" he said. "If we sit here talking like Darby and Joan muchlonger, we shall forget that it's actually our wedding-day. "

Avery looked up at him without rising, a queer sense of foreboding ather heart. "Then Edmund Crowther is a friend of yours, " she said. "Aclose friend?"

He stood above her, and she saw a very strange look in his eyes--almost adesperate look. 

"Quite a close friend, " he said in answer. "But he won't be if you wasteany more thought on him for many days to come. I want your thoughts allfor myself. "

Again he laughed, holding out his hands to her with a gesture thatcompelled rather than invited. She yielded to his insistence, but witha curious, hurt feeling as of one repulsed. It was as if he had closeda door in her face, not violently or in any sense rudely, yet withsuch evident intention that she had almost heard the click of the keyin the lock. 

Hand in hand they went through the enchanted wood; and for ever after, the scent of mountain-ash blossom was to Avery a bitter-sweet memory ofthat which should have been wholly sweet. 

As for Piers, she did not know what was in his mind, though she wasaware for a time of a lack of spontaneity behind his tenderness whichdisquieted her vaguely. She felt as if a shadow had fallen upon him, veiling his inner soul from her sight. 

Yet when they sat together in the magic quiet of the spring night in agarden that had surely been planted for lovers the cloud lifted, and shesaw him again in all the ardour of his love for her. For he poured itout to her there in the silence, eagerly, burningly, --the worship thathad opened to her the gate of that paradise which she had never morehoped to tread. 

She put her doubts and fears away from her, she answered to his call. Hehad awaked the woman's heart in her, and she gave freely, impulsively, not measuring her gift. If she could not offer him a girl's firstrapture, she could bestow that which was infinitely greater--the deep, strong love of a woman who had suffered and knew how to endure. 

They sat in the dewy garden till in the distant woods the nightingalesbegan their passion-steeped music, and then--because the ecstasy of thenight was almost more than she could bear--Avery softly freed herselffrom her husband's arm and rose. 

"Going?" he asked quickly. 

He remained seated holding her hand fast locked in his. She looked downinto his upraised face, conscious that her own was in shadow and that sheneed not try to hide the tears that had risen inexplicably to her eyes. 

"Yes, dear, " she answered, with an effort at lightness. "You haven't hada smoke since dinner. I am going to leave you to have one now. "

But he still held her, as if he could not let her go. 

She bent to him after a moment with that sweet impulsiveness of hers thatso greatly charmed all who loved her. "What is it, Piers? Don't you wantme to go?"

He caught her other hand in his and held them both against his lips. 

"Want you to go!" he muttered almost inarticulately; and then suddenly heraised his face again to hers. "Avery--Avery, promise me--swear tome--that, whatever happens, you will never leave me!"

"But, my dearest, haven't I already sworn--only today?" she said, surprised by his vehemence and his request. "Of course I shall neverleave you. My place is by your side. "

"I know! I know!" he said. "But it isn't enough. I want you to promise mepersonally, so that--I shall always feel--quite sure of you. You see, Avery, " his words came with difficulty, his upturned face seemed tobeseech her, "I'm not--the sort of impossible, chivalrous knight thatJeanie thinks me. I'm horribly bad. I sometimes think I've got a devilinside me. And I've done things--I've done things--" His voice shooksuddenly; he ended abruptly, with heaving breath. "Before I ever met you, I--wronged you. "

He would have let her go then, but it was her hands that held. Shestooped lower to him, divinely tender, her love seeming to spread allabout him like wings, folding him in. 

"My dear, " she said softly, "whatever there is of bad in you, --remember, the best is mine!"

He caught at the words. "The best--the best! You shall always have that, Avery. But, my darling, --you understand--you do understand--how utterlyunworthy that best is of you? You must understand that before--before--"

Again his voice went into silence; but she saw his eyes glow suddenly, hotly, in the gloom, and her heart gave a quick hard throb that caughther breath and held it for the moment suspended, waiting. 

He went on after a second, mastering himself with obvious effort. "WhatI am trying to say is this. It's easier--or at least not impossible--toforfeit what you've never had. But afterwards--afterwards--" His handsclosed tightly upon hers again; his voice sounded half-choked. "Avery, I--couldn't let you go--afterwards, " he said. 

"But, my own Piers, " she whispered, "haven't you said that there is noreason--no earthly reason--"

He broke in upon her almost fiercely. "There is no reason--nonewhatever--I swear it! You said yourself that the past was nothing to you. You meant it, Avery. Say you meant it!"

"But of course I meant it!" she told him. "Only, Piers, there is nosecret chamber in my life that you may not enter. Perhaps some day, dear, when you come to realize that I am older than Jeanie, you will open allyour doors to me!"

There was pleading in her voice, notwithstanding its note of banter; butshe did not stay to plead. With the whispered words she stooped andsoftly kissed him. Then ere he could detain her longer she gentlyreleased herself and was gone. 

He saw her light figure flit ghost-like across the dim stretch of grassand vanish into the shadows. And he started to his feet as if he wouldfollow or call her back. But he did neither. Be only stood swaying on hisfeet with a face of straining impotence--as of a prisoner wrestlingvainly with his iron bars--until she had gone wholly from his sight. Andthen with a stifled groan he dropped down again into his chair andcovered his face. 

He had paid a heavy price to enter the garden of his desire; butalready he had begun to realize that the fruit he gathered there wasDead Sea Fruit. 

CHAPTER II

THAT WHICH IS HOLY

No bells had rung at the young Squire's wedding. It had been conductedwith a privacy which Miss Whalley described as "almost indecent. " Butthere was no privacy about his return, and Miss Whalley was shockedafresh at the brazen heartlessness of it after his recent bereavement. For Sir Piers and his wife motored home at the end of July through avillage decked with flags and bunting and under a triumphant arch thatmade Piers' little two-seater seem absurdly insignificant; while thebells in the church-tower clanged the noisiest welcome they couldcompass, and Gracie--home for the holidays--mustered the school-childrento cheer their hardest as the happy couple passed the schoolhouse gate. 

Avery would fain have stopped to greet the child, but Piers would not bepersuaded. 

"No, no! To-morrow!" he said. "The honeymoon isn't over till afterto-night. "

So they waved and were gone, at a speed which made Miss Whalley wonderwhat the local police could be about. 

Once past the lodge-gates and Marshall's half-grudging, half-pleasedsmile of welcome, the speed was doubled. Piers went like the wind, tillAvery breathlessly cried to him to stop. 

"You'll kill us both before we get there!" she protested. In answer towhich Piers moderated the pace, remarking as he did so, "But you wouldlike to die by my side, what?"

Victor was on the steps to receive them, Victor dancing with impatienceand delight. For his young master's prolonged honeymoon had representedten weeks of desolation to him. 

Old David was also present, inconspicuous and dignified, waiting to pourout tea for the travellers. 

And Caesar the Dalmatian who had mourned with Victor for his absent deitynow leapt upon him in one great rush of ecstatic welcome that nearly borehim backwards. 

It was a riotous home-coming, for Piers was in boisterous spirits. Theyhad travelled far that day, but he was in a mood of such restless energythat he seemed incapable of feeling fatigue. 

Avery on her part was thoroughly weary, but she would not tell him so, and they spent the whole evening in wandering about house and gardens, discussing the advisability of various alterations and improvements. Inthe end Piers awoke suddenly to the fact that she was looking utterlyexhausted, and with swift compunction piloted her to her room. 

"What a fool I am!" he declared. "You must be dead beat. Why didn't yousay you wanted to rest?"

"I didn't, dear, " she answered simply. "I wanted to be with you. "

He caught her hand to his lips. "You are happy with me then?"

She uttered a little laugh that said more than words. "My own boy, yougive me all that the most exacting woman could possibly desire and thenask me that!"

He laughed too, his arm close about her. "I would give you the world if Ihad it. Avery, I hate to think we've come home--that the honeymoon isover--and the old beastly burdens waiting to be shouldered--" He laid hisforehead against her neck with a gesture that made her fancy he did notwish her to see his face for the moment. "P'r'aps I'm a heartless brute, but I never missed the old chap all the time I was away, " he whispered. "It's like being dragged under the scourge again--just when the old scarswere beginning to heal--to come back to this empty barrack. "

She slid a quick arm round his neck, all the woman's heart in herresponding to the cry from his. 

"The place is full of him, " Piers went on; "I meet him at every corner. I see him in his old place on the settle in the hall, where he used towait for me, and--and row me every night for being late. " He gave abroken laugh. "Avery, if it weren't for you, I--I believe I shouldshoot myself. "

"Come and sit down!" said Avery gently. She drew him to a couch, andthey sat down locked together. 

During all the ten weeks of their absence he had scarcely even mentionedhis grandfather. He had been gay and inconsequent, or fiercely passionatein his devotion to her. But of his loss he had never spoken, and vaguelyshe had known that he had shut it out of his life with that other grimshadow that dwelt behind the locked door she might not open. She had notdeemed him heartless, but she had regretted that deliberate shirking ofhis grief. She had known that sooner or later he would have to endure thescourging of which he spoke and that it would not grow the lighter withpostponement. 

And now as she held him against her heart, she was in a sense relievedthat it had come at last, thankful to be there with him while he strippedhimself of all subterfuge and faced his sorrow. 

He could not speak much as he sat there clasped in her arms. One or twoattempts he made, and then broke down against her breast. But no wordswere needed. Her arms were all he desired for consolation, and if theywaked in him the old wild remorse, he stifled it ere it could take fullpossession. 

Finally, when the first bitterness had passed, they sat and talkedtogether, and he found relief in telling her of the life he had lived inclose companionship with the old man. 

"We quarrelled a dozen times, " he said. "But somehow we could neither ofus keep it up. I don't know why. We were violent enough at times. There'san Evesham devil somewhere in our ancestry, and he has a trick ofcropping up still in moments of excitement. You've met him more thanonce. He's a formidable monster, what?"

"I am not afraid of him, " said Avery, with her cheek against hisblack head. 

He gave a shaky laugh. "You'd fling a bucket of water over Satan himself!I love you for not being afraid. But I don't know how you manage it, andthat's a fact. Darling, I'm a selfish brute to wear you out like this. Send me away when you can't stand any more of me!"

"Would you go?" she said, softly stroking his cheek. 

He caught her hand again and kissed it hotly, devouringly, in answer. "But I mustn't wear you out, " he said, a moment later, with an oddwistfulness. "You mustn't let me, Avery. "

She drew her hand gently away from the clinging of his lips. "No, Iwon't let you, " she said, in a tone he did not understand. 

He clasped her to him. "It's because I worship you so, " he whisperedpassionately. "There is no one else in the world but you. I adore you! Iadore you!"

She closed her eyes from the fiery worship that looked forth from his. "Piers, " she said, "wait, dear, wait!"

"Why should I wait?" he demanded almost fiercely. 

"Because I ask you. Because--just now--to be loved like that is more thanI can bear. Will you--can you--kiss me only, once, and go?"

He held her in his arms. He gazed long and burningly upon her. Inthe end he stopped and with reverence he kissed her. "I am going, Avery, " he said. 

She opened her eyes to him. "God bless you, my own Piers!" she murmuredsoftly, and laid her cheek for a moment against his sleeve ere he tookhis arm away. 

As for Piers, he went from her as if he feared to trespass, and her heartsmote her a little as she watched him go. But she would not call himback. She went instead to one of the great bay windows and leaned againstthe framework, gazing out. He was very good to her in all things, butthere were times when she felt solitude to be an absolute necessity. Hisvitality, his fevered desire for her, wore upon her nerves. His attitudetowards her was not wholly natural. It held something of a menace to herpeace which disquieted her vaguely. She had a feeling that though sheknew herself to be all he wanted in the world, yet she did not succeed infully satisfying him. He seemed to be perpetually craving for somethingfurther, as though somewhere deep within him there burned a fiery thirstthat nothing could ever slake. Her lightest touch seemed to awake it, andthere were moments when his unfettered passion made her afraid. 

Not for worlds would she have had him know it. Her love for him was toodeep to let her shrink; and she knew that only by that love did shemaintain her ascendancy, appealing to his higher nature as only true lovecan appeal. But the perpetual strain of it told upon her, and that nightshe felt tired in body and soul. 

The great bedroom behind her with its dark hangings and oak furnitureseemed dreary and unhome-like. She viewed the ancient and immensefour-poster with misgiving and wondered if Queen Elizabeth had everslept in it. 

After a time she investigated Piers' room beyond, and found it lessimposing though curiously stiff and wholly lacking in ordinarycheery comfort. Later she discovered the reason for this grimseverity of arrangement. No woman's touch had softened it for closeupon half a century. 

She went back to her own room and dressed. Piers had wanted her to have amaid, but she had refused until other changes should be made in theestablishment. There seemed so much to alter that she felt bewildered. Ahousehold of elderly menservants presented a problem with which she knewshe would find it difficult to deal. 

She put the matter gently before Piers that night, but he dismissed itas trivial. 

"You can't turn 'em off of course, " he said. "But you can have a dozenwomen to adjust the balance if you want 'em. "

Avery did not, but she was too tired to argue the point. She let thesubject slide. 

They dined together in the oak-panelled dining-room where Piers had sooften sat with his grandfather. The table seemed to stretch awayinimitably into shadows, and Avery felt like a Lilliputian. From the walldirectly facing her the last Lady Evesham smiled upon her--her baffling, mirthless smile that seemed to cover naught but heartache. She foundherself looking up again and again to meet those eyes of mockingcomprehension; and the memory of what Lennox Tudor had once told herrecurred to her. This was Piers' Italian grandmother whose patricianbeauty had descended to him through her scapegrace son. 

"Are you looking at that woman with the smile?" said Piers abruptly. 

She turned to him. "You are so like her, Piers. But I wouldn't like youto have a smile like that. There is something tragic behind it. "

"We are a tragic family, " said Piers sombrely. "As for her, she ruinedher own life and my grandfather's too. She might have been happy enoughwith him if she had tried. "

"Oh, Piers, I wonder!" Avery said, with a feeling that that smilerevealed more to her than to him. 

"I say she might, " Piers reiterated, with a touch of impatience. "Hethought the world of her, just as--just as--" he smiled at hersuddenly--"I do of you. He never knew that she wasn't satisfied until onefine day she left him. She married again--afterwards, and then died. Henever got over it. "

But still Avery had a vagrant feeling of pity for the woman who had beenSir Beverley's bride. "I expect they never really understood eachother, " she said. 

Piers' dark eyes gleamed. "Do you know what I would have done if I hadbeen in his place?" he said. "I would have gone after her and brought herback--even if I'd killed her afterwards. "

His voice vibrated on a deep note of savagery. He poured out a glass ofwine with a hand that shook. 

Avery said nothing, but through the silence she was conscious of the hardthrobbing of her heart. There was something implacable, something almostcruel, about Piers at that moment. She felt as if he had bruised herwithout knowing it. 

And then in his sudden, bewildering way he left his chair and came toher, stooped boyishly over her. "My darling, you're so awfully paleto-night. Have some wine--to please me!"

She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I ama little tired, dear; but I don't want any wine. I shall be all right inthe morning. "

He laid his cheek against her forehead. "I want you to drink a toast withme. Won't you?"

"We won't drink to each other, " she protested, faintly smiling. "It'stoo like drinking to ourselves. "

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, " he declared. "But wewon't toast ourselves. We'll drink to the future, Avery, and--" helowered his voice--"and all it contains. What?"

Her eyes opened quickly, but she did not move. "Why do you say that?"

"What?" he said again very softly. 

She was silent. 

He reached a hand for his own glass. "Drink with me, sweetheart!" he saidpersuasively. 

She suffered him to put it to her lips and drank submissively. But in amoment she put up a restraining hand. "You finish it!" she said, andpushed it gently towards him. 

He took it and held it high. The light gleamed crimson in the wine; itglowed like liquid fire. A moment he held it so, then without a word hecarried it to his lips and drained it. 

A second later there came the sound of splintering glass, and Avery, turning in her chair, discovered that he had flung it over his shoulder. 

She gazed at him in amazement astonished by his action. "Piers!"

But something in his face checked her. "No one will ever drink out ofthat glass again, " he said. "Are you ready? Shall we go in the garden fora breath of air?"

She went with him, but on the terrace outside he stopped impulsively. "Avery darling, I don't mean to be a selfish beast; but I've got to prowlfor a bit. Would you rather go to bed?"

His arm was round her; she leaned against him half-laughing. "Do youknow, dear, that bedroom frightens me with its magnificence! Don't prowltoo long!"

He bent to her swiftly. "Avery! Do you want me?"

"Just to scare away the bogies, " she made answer, with a lightness thatscarcely veiled a deeper feeling. "And when you've done that--quitethoroughly--perhaps--" She stopped. 

"Perhaps--" whispered Piers. 

"Perhaps I'll tell you a secret, " she said still lightly. "By the way, dear, I found a letter from Mr. Crowther waiting for me. I put it in yourroom for you to read. He writes so kindly. Wouldn't you like him to beour first visitor?"

There was a moment's silence before Piers made answer. 

"To be sure, " he said then. "We mustn't forget Crowther. You wrote andtold him everything, I suppose?"

"Yes, everything. He seems very fond of you, Piers. But you must read hisletter. It concerns you quite as much as it does me. There! I am going. Good-bye! Come up soon!"

She patted his shoulder and turned away. Somehow it had not been easy tospeak of Crowther. She had known that in doing so she had introduced anunwelcome subject. But Crowther was too great a friend to ignore. Shefelt that she had treated him somewhat casually already; for it was onlythe previous week that she had written to tell him of her marriage. 

Crowther was in town, studying hard for an examination, and she feltconvinced that he would be willing to pay them a visit. She also knewthat for some reason Piers was reluctant to ask him, but she felt thatthat fact ought not to influence her. For she owed a debt of gratitude toCrowther which she could never forget. 

But all thought of Crowther faded from her mind when she found herselfonce more in that eerie, tapestry-hung bedroom. The place had beenlighted with candles, but they only seemed to emphasize the gloom. Shewondered how often the last Lady Evesham--the warm-blooded, passionateItalian woman with her love of the sun and all things beautiful--hadstood as she stood now and shuddered at the dreary splendour of hersurroundings. How homesick she must have been, Avery thought to herself, as she undressed in the flickering candle-light! How her soul must haveyearned for the glittering Southern life she had left!

She thought of Sir Beverley. He must have been very like Piers in hisyouth, less fierce, less intense, but in many ways practically the same, giving much and demanding even more, restless and exacting, but withal solovable, so hard to resist, so infinitely dear. All her love for Piersthrobbed suddenly up to the surface. How good he was to her! What wouldlife be without him? She reproached herself for ingratitude anddiscontent. Life was a beautiful thing if only she would have it so. 

She knelt down at length by the deep cushioned window-seat and began topray. The night was dim and quiet, and as she prayed she graduallyforgot the shadows behind her and seemed to lose herself in theimmensity of its peace. She realized as never before that by her loveshe must prevail. It was the one weapon, unfailing and invincible, thatalone would serve her, when she could rely upon no other. She knew thathe had felt its influence, that there were times when he did instinctivereverence to it, as to that which is holy. She knew moreover that therewas that within him that answered to it as it were involuntarily--afiery essence in which his passion had no part which dwelt deep down inhis turbulent heart--a germ of greatness which she knew might blossominto Love Immortal. 

He was young, he was young. He wanted life, all he could get of it. Andhe left the higher things because as yet he was undeveloped. He had notfelt that hunger of the spirit which only that which is spiritual cansatisfy. It would come. She was sure it would come. She was watching forit day by day. His wings were still untried. He did not want to soar. Butby-and-bye the heights would begin to draw him. And then--then they wouldsoar together. But till that day dawned, her love must be the guardian ofthem both. 

There came a slight sound in the room behind her. She turnedswiftly. "Piers!"

He was close to her. As she started to her feet his arms enclosed her. Helooked down into her eyes, holding her fast pressed to him. 

"I didn't mean to disturb you, " he said. "But--when I saw you werepraying--I had to come in. I wanted so awfully to know--if you would getan answer. "

"But, Piers!" she protested. 

He kissed her lips. "Don't be angry, Avery! I'm not scoffing. I don'tknow enough about God to scoff at Him. Tell me! Do you ever get ananswer, or are you content to go jogging on like the rest of theworld without?"

She made an effort to free herself. "Do you know, Piers, I can't talk toyou about--holy things--when you are holding me like this. "

He looked stubborn. "I don't know what you mean by holy things. I'm not abeliever. At least I don't believe in prayer. I can get all I wantwithout it. "

"I wonder!" Avery said. 

She was still trying to disengage herself, but as he held her withevident determination she desisted. 

There followed a silence during which her grey eyes met his black onessteadily, fearlessly, resolutely. Then in a whisper Piers spoke, his lipsstill close to hers. "Tell me what you were praying for, sweetheart!"

She smiled a little. "No, dear, not now! It's nothing that's in yourpower to give me. Shall we sit on the window-seat and talk?"

But Piers was loath to let her go from his arms. He knelt beside her asshe sat, still holding her. 

She put her arm round his neck. "Do you remember your Star of Hope?" sheasked him softly. 

"I remember, " said Piers, but he did not turn his eyes to the night sky;they still dwelt upon her. 

Avery's face was toward the window. The drapery fell loosely away fromher throat. He stooped forward suddenly and pressed his hot lips upon hersoft white flesh. 

A little tremor went through her at his touch; she kept her faceturned from him. 

"Have you really got all you want?" she asked after a moment. "Is therenothing at all left to hope for?"

"Didn't we drink to the future only to-night?" he said. 

His arms were drawing her, but still she kept her face turned away. "Didyou mean anything by that?" she asked. "Were you--were you thinking ofanything special?"

He did not at once answer her. He waited till with an odd reluctance sheturned her face towards him. Then, "I was thinking of you, " he said. 

Her heart gave a quick throb. "Of me?" she questioned below her breath. 

"Of you, " he said again. "For myself, I have got all I can ever hope for. But you--you would be awfully happy, wouldn't you, if--"

"If--" murmured Avery. 

He stooped again to kiss her white bosom. "And it would be a bond betweenus, " he said, as if continuing some remark he had not uttered. 

She turned more fully to him. "Do we need that?" she said. 

"We might--some day, " he answered, in a tone that somehow made itimpossible for her to protest. "Anyhow, my darling, I knew, --I guessed. And I'm awfully glad--for your sake. "

She bent towards him. "Not for your own?" she whispered pleadingly. 

He laid his head suddenly down upon her knees with a sound that wasalmost a groan. 

"Piers!" she said in distress. 

He was silent for a space, then slowly raised himself. She had a senseof shock at sight of his face. It looked haggard and grey, as if awithering hand had touched him and shorn away his youth. 

"Avery, --oh, Avery, " he said, "I wish I were a better man!"

It was a cry wrung from his soul--the hungry cry which she had longed tohear, and it sent a great joy through her even though it wrung her ownsoul also. 

She bent to him swiftly. "Dearest, we all feel that sometimes. And Ithink it is the Hand of God upon us, opening our eyes. "

He did not answer or make any response to her words. Only as he claspedher to him, she heard him sigh. And she knew that, strive as he might tosilence that soul-craving with earthly things, it would beat onunsatisfied through all. She came nearer to understanding him that nightthat ever before. 

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST GUEST

"I am greatly honoured to be your first guest, " said Crowther. 

"The honour is ours to get you, " Avery declared. She sat on the terracewhither she had conducted him, and smiled at him across the tea-tablewith eyes of shining friendship. 

Crowther smiled back, thinking to himself how pleasant a picture shemade. She was dressed in white, and her face was flushed and happy, evengirlish in its animation. There was a ring of laughter in her voice whenshe talked that was very good to hear. She had herself just brought himfrom the station in Piers' little two-seater, and her obvious pleasure atmeeting him still hung about her, making her very fair to see. 

"Piers is so busy just now, " she told him. "He sent all sorts ofmessages. He had to go over to Wardenhurst to see Colonel Rose. The M. P. For this division retired at the end of the Session, and Piers is tostand for the constituency. They talk of having the election in October. "

"Will he get in?" asked Crowther, still watching her with friendlyappreciation in his eyes. 

"Oh, I don't know. I expect so. He gets most things that he sets hisheart on. His grandfather--you knew Sir Beverley?--was so anxious that heshould enter Parliament. "

"Yes, I knew Sir Beverley, " said Crowther. "He thought the worldof Piers. "

"And Piers of him, " said Avery. 

"Ah! Was it a great blow to him when the old man died?"

"A very great blow, " she answered soberly. "That was the main reason forour marrying so suddenly. The poor boy was so lonely I couldn't bear tothink of him by himself in this great house. "

"He was very lucky to get you, " said Crowther gravely. 

She smiled. "I was lucky too. Don't you think so? I never in my wildestdreams pictured such a home as this for myself. "

A great magnolia climbed the house behind her with creamy flowers thatshed their lemon fragrance all about them. Crowther compared her in hisown mind to the wonderful blossoms. She was so sweet, so pure, yet alsoin a fashion so splendid. 

"I think it is a very suitable setting for you, Lady Evesham!" he said. 

She made a quick, impulsive movement towards him. "Do call meAvery!" she said. 

"Thank you, " he answered, with a smile. "It certainly seems more natural. How long have you been in this home of yours, may I ask?"

"Only a fortnight, " she said, laughing. "Our honeymoon took ten weeks. Piers wanted to make it ten years; but the harvest was coming on, and Iknew he ought to come back and see what was happening. And then Mr. Ferrars resigned his seat, and it became imperative. But isn't it abeautiful place?" she ended. "I felt overwhelmed by the magnificence ofit at first, but I am getting used to it now. "

"A glorious place, " agreed Crowther. "Piers must be very proud of it. Have you begun to have many visitors yet?"

She shook her head. "No, not many. Nearly all the big people have goneto Scotland. Piers says they will come later, but I shall not mind themso much then. I shall feel less like an interloper by that time. "

"I don't know why you should feel like that, " said Crowther. Averysmiled. "Well, all the little people think that I set out to catch Piersfor his money and his title. "

"Does what the little people think have any weight with you?"asked Crowther. 

She flushed faintly under the kindly directness of his gaze. "Not really, I suppose. But one can't quite shake off the feeling of it. There is theVicar for instance. He has never liked me. He congratulates me almostevery time we meet. "

"Evidently a cad, " commented Crowther in his quiet way. 

Avery laughed a little. She had always liked this man's plain speech. "Heis not the only one, " she said. 

"But you have friends--real friends--also?" he questioned. 

"Oh yes; indeed! The Vicarage children and their mother are the greatestfriends I have. " Avery spoke with warmth. "The children are having teadown in one of the cornfields now. We must go and see them presently. Youare fond of children, I know. "

"I sort of love them, " said Crowther with his slow, kind smile. "Ah, Piers, my lad, are you trying to steal a march on us? Did you think Ididn't know?"

He spoke without raising his voice. Avery turned sharply to see herhusband standing on the steps of a room above them. One glimpse she hadof Piers' face ere he descended and joined them, and an odd feeling ofdismay smote her. For that one fleeting moment there seemed, to besomething of the cornered beast in his aspect. 

But as he came straight down to Crowther and wrung his hand, his darkface was smiling a welcome. He was in riding-dress, and looked veryhandsome and young. 

"How did you know it was I? Awfully pleased to see you! Sorry I couldn'tget back sooner. I've been riding like the devil. Avery explained, didshe?" He threw himself into a chair, and tossed an envelope into her lap. "An invitation to Ina Rose's wedding on the twenty-third. That's the weekafter next. They are sorry they can't manage to call before, hope you'llunderstand and go. I said you should do both. "

"Thank you, Piers. " Avery laid the envelope aside unopened. She did notfeel that he was being very cordial to Crowther. "I am not sure that Ishall go. "

"Oh yes, you will, " he rejoined quickly. "You must. It's an order, see?"His dark eyes laughed at her, but there was more than a tinge ofimperiousness in his manner. "Well, Crowther, how are you? Getting readyto scatter the Philistines? Don't give me milk, Avery! You know I hate itat this time of day. "

She looked at him in surprise. He had never used that impatient toneto her before. "I didn't know, " she observed simply, as she handedhim his cup. 

"Well, you know now, " he rejoined with an irritable frown. "Hurry up, Crowther! I want you to come and see the crops. "

Avery was literally amazed by his manner. He had never been so franklyand unjustifiably rude to her before. She came to the conclusion thatsomething had happened at the Roses' to annoy him; but that he shouldvisit his annoyance upon her was a wholly new experience. 

He drank his tea, talking hard to Crowther the while, and finally sprangto his feet as if in a ferment to be gone. 

"Won't Lady Evesham come too?" asked Crowther, as he rose. 

Avery rose also. "Yes, I have promised the children to join them in thecornfield, " she said. 

Piers said nothing; but she had a very distinct impression that he wouldhave preferred her to remain behind. The wonder crossed her mind if hewere jealous because he could no longer have her exclusively to himself. 

They walked down through the park to the farm. It was a splendid Augustevening. The reaping was still in progress, and the whirr of the machinerose slumbrous through the stillness. But of the Vicarage children therewas at first no sign. 

Avery searched for them in surprise. She had sent a picnic basket down tothe farm earlier in the afternoon, and she had expected to find themenjoying the contents thereof in a shady corner. But for a time shesearched in vain. 

"They must have gone home, " said Piers. 

But she did not believe they would have left without seeing her, and shewent to the farm to make enquiries. 

Here she heard that the picnic-party had taken place and that the baskethad been brought back by one of the men, but for some reason the childrenhad evidently gone home early, for they had not been seen since. 

Avery wanted to run to the Vicarage and ascertain if all were well, butPiers vetoed this. 

"It's too hot, " he said. "And you'll only come in for some row with theReverend Stephen. I won't have you go, Avery. Stay with us!"

His tone was peremptory, and Avery realized that his assumption ofauthority was intentional. A rebellious spirit awoke within her, but shechecked it. Something had gone wrong, she was sure. He would tell herpresently what it was. 

She yielded therefore to his desire and remained with them. They spent aconsiderable time in the neighbourhood of the farm, in all of whichCrowther took a keen interest. Avery tried to be interested too, butPiers' behaviour troubled and perplexed her. He seemed to be all on edge, and more than once his manner to Crowther also verged upon abruptness. 

They were leaving the farm to turn homeward when there came to Avery thesound of flying feet along the lane outside. She went to the gate, andbeheld Gracie, her face crimson with heat, racing towards her. 

Avery moved to meet her, surprised by her sudden appearance. She wasstill more surprised when Gracie reached her, flung tempestuous armsabout her, and broke into stormy crying on her breast. 

"My dear! My dear! What has happened?" Avery asked in distress. 

But Gracie was for the moment quite beyond speech. She hung upon Avery, crying as if her heart would break. 

Piers came swiftly down the path. "Why, Pixie, what's the matter?" hesaid. 

He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gently to lean againsthimself, for in her paroxysm of weeping she had thrown herself upon Averywith childish unrestraint. 

"Who's been bullying you, Pixie?" he said. 

"Nobody! Nobody!" sobbed Gracie. She transferred herself to his armsalmost mechanically, so overwhelming was her woe. "Oh, it's dreadful!It's dreadful!" she cried. 

He patted her soothingly, his cheek against her fair hair. "Well, what isit, kiddie? Let's hear! One of the youngsters in trouble, what? NotJeanie, I say?"

"No, no, no! It's--Mike. " The name came out with a great burst of tears. 

"Mike!" Piers looked at Avery, mystified for the moment. "Ah, to be sure!The dog! Well, what's happened to him? He isn't dead, what?"

"He is! He is!" sobbed Gracie. "He--he has been killed--by--by hisown chain!"

"What!" said Piers again. 

Gaspingly she told him the tragic tale. "Father always will have him kepton the chain, and--and--"

"An infernally cruel thing to do!" broke indignantly from Piers. 

"Yes, we--we all said so. And we tried to give him little outingssometimes to--to make up. But to-day--somehow--we forgot him, and--and hemust have seen us go, and jumped the wall after us. Pat and I went backafterwards to fetch him, and found him--found him--oh, Piers!" She criedout in sudden agony and said no more. 

"Choked?" said Piers. "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" He lookedup again at Avery with something unfathomable in his eyes. "Oh, don't cryso, child!" he said. "A chained creature is happier dead--a thousandtimes happier!"

He spoke passionately, so passionately that Gracie's wild grief wasstayed. She lifted her face, all streaming with tears. "Do you thinkso really?"

"Of course I think so, " he said. "Life on a chain is misery unspeakable. No one with any heart could condemn a dog to that! It's the refinement ofcruelty. Don't wish the poor beast back again! Be thankful he's gone!"

The vehemence of his speech was such that it carried conviction even toGracie's torn heart. She looked up at him with something of wonder and ofawe. "If only--he hadn't suffered so!" she whispered. 

He put his hand on her forehead and smoothed back the clustering hair. "You poor kid!" he said pityingly. "You've suffered much more than he didat the end. But it's over. Don't fret! Don't fret!"

Gracie lifted trembling lips to be kissed. He was drying her eyes withhis own handkerchief as tenderly as any woman. He stooped and kissed her. "Look here! I'll walk home with you, " he said. "Avery, you go back withCrowther! I shan't be late. "

Avery turned at once. The sight of Piers soothing the little girl'sdistress had comforted her subtly. She felt that his mood had softened. 

"Won't you go too?" said Crowther, as she joined him. "Please don't stayon my account! I am used to being alone, and I can find my own way back. "

"Oh no!" she said. "I had better come with you. I shan't be wanted now. "

They started to walk back among the shocks of corn; but they had not gonemany yards when Gracie came running after them, reached them, flung herarms about Avery. 

"Good-bye, darling Avery!" she said. 

Avery held her close. She was sobbing still, but the first wild anguishof her grief was past. 

"Good-bye, darling!" Avery whispered, after a moment. 

Grade's arms tightened. "You think like Piers does?" she murmured. "Youthink poor Mikey is happier now?"

Avery paused an instant. The memory of Piers' look as he had uttered thewords: "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" seemed to grip her heart. Then: "Yes, dearie, " she said softly. "I think as Piers does. I amglad--for poor Mikey's sake--that his troubles are over. "

"Then I'll try and be glad too, " sobbed poor Gracie. "But it's very, verydifficult. Pat and I loved him so, and he--he loved us. "

"My dear, that love won't die, " Avery said gently. 

"The gift immortal, " said Crowther. "The only thing that counts. "

She looked round at him quickly, but his eyes were gazing straight intothe sunset--steadfast eyes that saw to the very heart of things. 

"And Life in Death, " he added quietly. 

CHAPTER IV

THE PRISONER IN THE DUNGEON

Avery was already dressed when she heard Piers enter his room and say aword to Victor. She stood by her window waiting. It was growing late, butshe felt sure he would come to her. 

She heard Victor bustling about in his resilient fashion, and againPiers' voice, somewhat curt and peremptory, reached her through theclosed door. He was evidently dressing at full speed. She was consciousof a sense of disappointment, though she kept it at bay, remindingherself that they must not keep their guest waiting. 

But presently, close upon the dinner-hour, she went herself to the doorof her husband's room and knocked. 

His voice answered her immediately, but it still held that unwontedquality of irritation in it. "Oh, Avery, I can't let you in. I'm sorry. Victor's here. "

Something--a small, indignant spirit--sprang up within her in response. "Send Victor away!" she said. "I want to come in. "

"I shall be late if I do, " he made answer. "I'm horribly late as it is. "

But for once Avery's habitual docility was in abeyance. "Send Victoraway!" she reiterated. 

She heard Piers utter an impatient word, and then in a moment or two heraised his voice again. "Come in then! What is it?"

She opened the door with an odd unaccustomed feeling of trepidation. 

He was standing in his shirt-sleeves brushing his hair vigorously at thetable. His back was towards her, but the glass reflected his face, andshe saw that his brows were drawn into a single hard black line. His lipswere tightly compressed. He looked undeniably formidable. 

"Don't you want me, Piers?" she asked, pausing in the doorway. 

His eyes flashed up to hers in the glass, glowing with the smoulderingfire, oddly fitful, oddly persistent. "Come in!" he said, withoutturning. "What is it?"

She went forward to him. "Did you go to the Vicarage?" she asked. "Arethey in great trouble?"

She thought she saw relief in his face at her words. "Oh yes, " he said. "Mrs. Lorimer crying as usual, Jeanie trying to comfort her. I did mybest to hearten them up but you know what they are. I say, sit down!"

"No, I am going, " she answered gently. "Did you get on all right thisafternoon?"

"Oh yes, " he said again. "By the way, we must get a wedding-present forIna Rose and another for Guyes. You'll come to the wedding, Avery?"

"If you wish it, dear, " she said quietly. 

He threw down his brushes and turned fully to her. "Avery darling, I'msorry I was bearish this afternoon. You won't punish me for it?"

"Punish you, my own Piers!" she said. 

"Because I can't stand it, " he said recklessly. "There are certain formsof torture that drive a man crazy. Bear with me--all you can!"

His quick pleading touched her, went straight to her heart. She put herhands on his shoulders, lifting her face for his kiss. "It's all right, dear, " she said. 

"Is it?" he said. "Is it?" He took her face between his hands, gazingdown at her with eyes of passionate craving. "Say you love me!" he urgedher suddenly. "Say it!"

Her heart sank within her. She made a movement as if to withdraw herself;but he caught her fiercely to him, his hot lips sought and held her own. She felt as if a flame encompassed her, scorching her, consuming her. 

"Say you love me!" he whispered again between those fiery kisses. "Avery, I must have your soul as well. Do more than bear with me! Wantme--want me!"

There was more than passion in the words. They came to her like a cry oftorment. She braced herself to meet his need, realizing it to be greaterthan she knew. 

"Piers! Piers!" she said. "I am altogether yours. I love you. Don'tyou know it?"

He drew a deep, quivering breath. "Yes--yes, I do know it, " he said. "But--but--Avery, I would go through hell for you. You are my religion, my life, my all. I am not that to you. If--if I were dragged down, youwouldn't follow me in. "

His intensity shocked her, but she would not have him know it. Shesought to calm his agitation though she possessed no key thereto. "Mydear, " she said, "you are talking wildly. You don't know what you are tome, and I can't even begin to tell you. But surely--by now--you can takeme on trust. "

He made a curious sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. "You don't knowyourself, Avery, " he said. 

"But you don't doubt my love, Piers, " she protested very earnestly. "Youknow that it would never fail you. "

"Your love is like the moonlight, Avery, " he answered. "It is allwhiteness and purity. But mine--mine is red like the fire that isunder the earth. And though sometimes it scorches you, it never quitereaches you. You stoop to me, but you can't lift me. You are too farabove. And the moonlight doesn't always reach to the prisoner in thedungeon either. "

"All the same dear, don't be afraid that it will ever fail you!" shesaid. 

He kissed her again, hotly, lingeringly, and let her go. "Perhaps I shallremind you of that one day, " he said. 

All through dinner his spirits were recklessly high. He talkedincessantly, playing the host with a brilliant ease that betrayed no signof strain. He did not seem to have a care in the world, and Averymarvelled at his versatility. 

She herself felt weary and strangely sick at heart. Those few words ofhis had been a bitter revelation to her. She knew now what was wantingbetween them. He desired passion from her rather than love. He had no usefor spiritual things. And she, --she knew that she shrank inwardlywhenever she encountered that fierce, untamed desire of his. It fetteredher spirit, it hung upon her like an overpowering weight. She could notsatisfy his wild Southern nature. He crushed her love with the veryfierceness of his possession and ever cried to her for more. He seemedinsatiable. Even though she gave him all she had, he still hungered, still strove feverishly to possess himself of something further. 

She felt worn out, body and soul, and she could not hide it. She wasunspeakably glad when at length the meal was over and she was able toleave the table. 

Crowther opened the door for her, looking at her with eyes of kindlycriticism. 

"You look tired, " he said. "I hope you don't sit up late. "

She smiled at him. "Oh no! We will make Piers play to us presently, andthen I will say good-night. "

"Then we mustn't keep you waiting long, " he said. "So Piers is amusician, is he? I didn't know. "

"You had better go to bed, Avery; it's late, " said Piers abruptly. "Ican't play to-night. The spirit doesn't move me. " He rose from the tablewith a careless laugh. "Say good-night to her, Crowther, and let her go!We will smoke in the garden. "

There was finality in his tone, its lightness notwithstanding. Againthere came to Avery the impulse to rebel, and again instinctively shecaught it back. She held out her hand to Crowther. 

"I am dismissed then, " she said. "Good-night!"

His smile answered hers. He looked regretful, but very kindly. "I am gladto see Piers takes care of you, " he said. 

She laughed a little drearily as she went away, making no other response. 

Crowther turned back to the table with its shaded candles and gleamingwine. He saw that Piers' glass was practically untouched. 

Piers himself was searching a cabinet for cigars. He found what hesought, and turned round with the box in his hand. 

"I don't know what you generally smoke, " he said. "Will you try one ofthese? It's a hot night. We may as well have coffee in the garden. "

He seemed possessed with a spirit of restlessness, just as he had been onthat night at the Casino in the spring. Crowther, massive andself-contained, observed him silently. 

They went out on to the terrace, and drank their coffee in the dewystillness. But even there Piers could not sit still. He prowled to andfro eternally, till Crowther set down his cup and joined him, pushing aquiet hand through his arm. 

"It's a lovely place you've got here, sonny, " he said; "a regular gardenof Paradise. I almost envy you. "

"Oh, you needn't do that. There's a serpent in every Eden, " said Piers, with a mirthless laugh. 

He did not seek to keep Crowther at arm's length, but neither did heseem inclined for any closer intimacy. His attitude neither invited norrepelled confidence. Yet Crowther knew intuitively that his veryindifference was in itself a barrier that might well proveinsurmountable. 

He walked in silence while Piers talked intermittently of variousimpersonal matters, drifting at length into silence himself. 

In the western wing of the house a light burned at an upper window, andCrowther, still quietly observant, noted how at each turn Piers' eyeswent to that light as though drawn by some magnetic force. 

Gently at length he spoke. "She doesn't look altogether robust, sonny. "

Piers started sharply as if something had pricked him. "What? Avery doyou mean? No, she isn't over and above strong--just now. "

He uttered the last two words as if reluctantly, yet as if some measureof pride impelled him. 

Crowther's hand pressed his arm, in mute sympathy. "You are right totake care of her, " he said simply. "And Piers, my lad, I want to tell youhow glad I was to know that you were able to win her after all. I somehowfelt you would. "

It was his first attempt to pass that intangible barrier, and it failed. Piers disregarded the words as if they had not reached him. 

"I don't know if I shall let her stay here through the winter, " he said. "I am not sure that the place suits her. It's damp, you know; goodhunting and so on, but a bit depressing in bad weather. Besides I'drather have her under a town doctor. The new heir arrives in March, " hesaid, with a slight laugh that struck Crowther as unconsciously pathetic. 

"I'm very pleased to hear it, sonny, " said Crowther. "May he bethe first of many! What does Avery think about it? I'll warrantshe's pleased?"

"Oh yes, she's pleased enough. "

"And you, lad?"

"Oh yes, I'm pleased too, " said Piers, but his tone lacked completesatisfaction and he added after a moment, "I'd rather have had her tomyself a bit longer. I'm a selfish brute, you know, Crowther. I want allI can get--and even that's hardly enough to keep me from starvation. "

There was a note of banter in his voice, but there was something else aswell that touched Crowther's kindly heart. 

"I don't think Avery is the sort of woman to sacrifice her husband to herchildren, " he said. "You will always come first, sonny, --if I know her. "

"I couldn't endure anything else, " said Piers, with sudden fire. "She isthe mainspring of my life. "

"And you of hers, " said Crowther. 

Piers stopped dead in his walk and faced him. "No, --no, I'm not!" hesaid, speaking quickly, unrestrainedly. "I'm a good deal to her, but I'mnot that. She gives, but she never offers. If I went off on a journeyround the world to-morrow, she'd see me go quite cheerfully, and she'dwait serenely till I came back again. She'd never fret. Above all, she'dnever dream of coming to look for me. "

The passionate utterance went into a sound that resembled a laugh, but itwas a sound of such bitterness that Crowther was strongly moved. 

He put his hand on Piers' shoulder and gave it an admonitory shake. "Mydear lad, don't be a fool!" he said, with slow force. "You're consumingyour own happiness--and hers too. You can't measure a woman's feelingslike that. They are immeasurable. You can't even begin to fathom awoman's restraint--a woman's reserve. How can she offer when you arealways demanding? As to her love, it is probably as infinitely great, asinfinitely deep, as infinitely selfless, as yours is passionate, andfierce and insatiable. There are big possibilities in you, Piers; butyou're not letting 'em grow. It would have done you good to have beenkept waiting ten years or more. You're spoilt; that's what's the matterwith you. You got your heart's desire too easily. You think this world isyour own damn playground. And it isn't. Understand? You're put here towork, not play; to develop yourself, not batten on other people. You wonher like a man in the face of desperate odds. You paid a heavy price forher. But even so, you don't deserve to keep her if you forget that shehas paid too. By Heaven, Piers, she must have loved you a mighty lot tohave done it!"

He paused, for Piers had made a sharp, involuntary movement as of a manin intolerable pain. He almost wrenched himself from Crowther's hand, andwalked to the low wall of the terrace. Here he stood for many secondsquite motionless, gazing down over the quiet garden. 

Finally he swung round, and looked at Crowther. "Yes, " he said, in an oddtone as of one repeating something learned by heart. "I've got toremember that, haven't I? Thanks for--reminding me!" He stopped, seemedto collect himself, moved slowly forward. "You're a good chap, Crowther, "he said. "I wonder you've never got married yourself, what?"

Crowther waited for him quietly, in his eyes that look of the man who hasgazed for long over the wide spaces of the earth. 

"I never married, sonny, " he said, "because I had nothing to offer to thewoman I cared for, and so--she never knew. "

"By gad, old chap, I'm sorry, " said Piers impulsively. 

Crowther held out a steady hand. "I'm happy enough, " he said simply. "I've got--all I want. "

"All?" echoed Piers incredulously. 

Crowther was smiling. He lifted his face to the night sky. "Yes, --thankGod, --all!" he said. 

CHAPTER V

THE SWORD FALLS

As Miss Whalley had predicted, Ina Rose's wedding was a very grand affairindeed. Everyone who was anyone attended it, and a good many besides. Ittook place in the midst of a spell of sultry weather, during which thesun shone day after day with brazen strength and the heat was intense. 

It was the sort of weather Piers revelled in. It suited his tropicalnature. But it affected Avery very differently. All her customary energywilted before it, and yet she was strangely restless also. A greatreluctance to attend the wedding possessed her, wherefore she could nothave said. But for some reason Piers was determined that she should go. He was even somewhat tyrannical on the subject, and rather than have adiscussion Avery had yielded the point. For Piers was oddly difficult inthose days. Crowther's visit, which had barely run into forty-eighthours, seemed to have had a disquieting effect upon him. There haddeveloped a curious, new-born mastery in his attitude towards her, whichshe sometimes found it hard to endure. She missed the chivalry of theearly days. She missed the sweetness of his boyish adoration. 

She did not understand him, but she knew that he was not happy. He nevertook her into his confidence, never alluded by word or sign to the changewhich he must have realized that she could not fail to notice. And Averyon her part made no further effort to open the door that was sostrenuously locked against her. With an aching heart she gave herself tothe weary task of waiting, convinced that sooner or later the nature ofthe barrier which he so stubbornly ignored would be revealed to her. Butit was impossible to extend her full confidence to him. Moreover, heseemed to shrink from all intimate subjects. Instinctively and whollyinvoluntarily she withdrew into herself, meeting reserve with reserve. Since he had become master rather than lover, she yielded him obedience, and she hid away her love, not deliberately or intentionally, but ratherwith the impulse to protect from outrage that which was holy. He was notasking love of her just then. 

She saw but little of him during the day. He was busy on the estate, busywith the coming election, busy with a hundred and one matters thatevidently occupied his thoughts very fully. The heat seemed to imbue himwith inexhaustible energy. He never seemed tired after the most strenuousexertion. He never slacked for a moment or seemed to have a moment tospare till the day was done. He was generally late for meals, and alwaysraced through them at a speed that Avery was powerless to emulate. 

He was late on the day of Ina Rose's wedding, so late that Avery, who haddressed in good time and was lying on the sofa in her room, began towonder if he had after all abandoned the idea of going. But she presentlyheard him race into his own room, and immediately there came the activepatter of Victor's feet as he waited upon him. 

She lay still, listening, wishing that the wedding were over, morbidlydreading the heat and crush and excitement which she knew awaited her andto which she felt utterly unequal. 

A quarter of an hour passed, then impetuously, without preliminary, herdoor opened and Piers stood on the threshold. He had the light behindhim, for Avery had lowered the blinds, and so seeing him she wasconscious of a sudden thrill of admiration. For he stood before her likea prince. She had never seen him look more handsome, more patrician, moretragically like that woman in the picture-frame downstairs who smiled soperpetually upon them both. 

He came to her with his light, athletic tread, stooped, and lifted herbodily in his arms. He held her a moment before he set her on her feet, and then in his hot, fierce way he kissed her. 

"You beautiful ghost!" he said. 

She leaned against him, breathing rather hard. "I wish--I wish we needn'tgo, " she said. 

"Why?" said Piers. 

He held her to him, gazing down at her with his eyes of fiery possessionthat always made her close her own. 

"Because--because it's so hot, " she said quiveringly. "There will be noone I know there. And I--and I--"

"That's just why you are going, " he broke in. "Don't you know it will beyour introduction to the County? You've got to find your footing, Avery. I'm not going to have my wife overlooked by anyone. "

"Oh, my dear, " she said, with a faint laugh, "I don't care two strawsabout the County. They've seen me once already, most of them, --in a ditchand covered with mud. If they want to renew the acquaintance they cancome and call. "

He kissed her again with lips that crushed her own. "We won't stay longerthan we can help, " he said. "You ought to go out more, you know. It isn'tgood for you to stay in this gloomy old vault all day. We will really getto work and make it more habitable presently. But I've got such a lot onhand just now. "

"I know, " she said quietly. "Please don't bother about me! Lunch iswaiting for us. Shall we go?"

He gave her a quick, keen look, as if he suspected her of trying toelude him; but he let her go without a word. 

They descended to lunch, and later went forth into the blazing sunshinewhere the car awaited them. Avery sank back into the corner and closedher eyes. Her head was aching violently. The sense of reluctance that hadpossessed her for so long amounted almost to a premonition of evil. 

"Avery!" Her husband's voice, curt, imperious, with just a tinge ofanxiety broke in upon her. "Are you feeling faint or anything?"

She looked at him. He was watching her with a frown between his eyes. 

"No, I am not faint, " she said. "The heat makes my head ache, that's all. "

"You ought to see a doctor, " he said restlessly. "But not that ass, Tudor. We'll go up to town to-morrow. Avery, " his voice softenedsuddenly, "I'm sorry I dragged you here if you didn't want to come. "

She put out her hand to him instantly. It was the old Piers who hadspoken, Piers the boy-lover who had won her heart so irresistibly, socompletely. 

He held the hand tightly, and she thought his face quivered a little ashe said: "I don't mean to be a tyrant, dear. But somehow--somehow, youknow--I can't always help it. A man with a raging thirst willtake--anything he can get. "

His eyes were still upon her, and her heart quickened to compassion attheir look. They seemed to cry to her for mercy out of a depth ofsuffering that she could not bear to contemplate. 

She leaned swiftly towards him. "Piers, --my dear--what is it? What isit?" she said, under her breath. 

But in that instant the look vanished. The old fierce flare of passionblazed forth upon her, held her burningly, till finally she drew backbefore it in mute protest. "So you will forgive me, " he said, in a tonethat seemed to contain something of a jeering quality. "We are all human, what? You're looking better now. Egad, Avery, you're splendid!"

Her heart died within her. She turned her face away, as one ashamed. 

The church at Wardenhurst was thronged with a chattering crowd of guests. Piers and Avery arrived late, so late that they had some difficulty infinding seats. Tudor, who was present and looking grimly disgusted withhimself, spied them at length, and gave up his place to Avery. 

The bride entered almost immediately afterwards, young, lovely, with theair of a queen passing through her subjects. Dick Guyes at the altar wasshaking with nervousness, but Ina was supremely self-possessed. She evensent a smile of casual greeting to Piers as she went. 

She maintained her attitude of complete _sang-froid_ throughout theservice, and Piers watched her critically with that secret smile at thecorners of his lips which was not good to see. 

He did not seem aware of anyone else in the church till the service wasover, and the strains of the Wedding March were crashing through thebuilding. Then very suddenly he turned and looked at his wife--with thatin his dark eyes that thrilled her to the soul. 

A man's voice accosted him somewhat abruptly. "Are you Sir Piers Evesham?I'm the best man. They want you to sign the register. "

Piers started as one rudely awakened from an entrancing dream. Animpatient exclamation rose to his lips which he suppressed rather badly. He surveyed the man who addressed him with a touch of hauteur. 

Avery surveyed him also, and as not very favourably impressed. He was asmall man with thick sandy eyebrows and shifty uncertain eyes. He lookedhard at Piers in answer to the latter's haughty regard, and Avery becameaware of a sudden sharp change in his demeanour as he did so. He openedhis eyes and stared in blank astonishment. 

"Hullo!" he ejaculated softly. "You!"

"What do you mean?" demanded Piers. 

It was a challenge, albeit spoken in an undertone. He stood like a mantransfixed as he uttered it. There came to Avery a quick hot impulse tointervene, to protect him from some hidden danger, she knew not what, that had risen like a serpent in his path. But before she could take anyaction, the critical moment was passed. Piers had recovered himself. 

He stepped forward. "All right. I will come, " he said. 

She watched him move away in the direction of the vestry with that free, proud gait of his, and a great coldness came down upon her, wrapping herround, penetrating to her very soul. Who was that man with the shiftyeyes? Why had he stared at Piers so? Above all, why had Piers stood withthat stiff immobility of shock as though he had been stabbed in the back?

A voice spoke close to her. "Lady Evesham, come and wait by the door!There is more air there. "

She turned her head mechanically, and looked at Lennox Tudor with eyesthat saw not. There was a singing in her ears that made the crashingchords of the organ sound confused and jumbled. 

His hand closed firmly, sustainingly, upon her elbow. 

"Come with me!" he said. 

She went with him blindly, unconscious of the curious eyes thatwatched her go. 

He led her quietly down the church and into the porch. The air fromoutside, albeit hot and sultry, was less oppressive than within. She drewgreat breaths of relief as it reached her. The icy grip at her heartseemed to relax. 

Tudor watched her narrowly. "What madness brought you here?" he saidpresently, as she turned at last and mustered a smile of thanks. 

She countered the question. "I might ask you the same, " she said. 

His eyes contracted behind the shielding glasses. "So you might, " he saidbriefly. "Well, --I came on the chance of meeting you. "

"Of meeting me!" She looked at him in surprise. 

He nodded. "Just so. I want a word with you; but it can't be said here. Give me an opportunity later if you can!"

His hand fell away from her elbow, he drew back. The bridal processionwas coming down the church. 

Ina was flushed and laughing. Dick Guyes still obviously nervous, but, also obviously, supremely happy. They went by Avery into a perfect stormof rose-leaves that awaited them from the crowd outside. Yet for onemoment the eyes of the bride rested upon Avery, meeting hers almost as ifthey would ask her a question. And behind her--immediately behindher--came Piers. 

His eyes also found Avery, and in an instant with a haughty disregard ofTudor, he had swept her forward with him, his arm thrust imperiallythrough hers. They also weathered the storm of rose-leaves, and as theywent Avery heard him laugh, --the laugh of the man who fights with hisback to the wall. 

They were among the first to offer congratulations to the bride andbridegroom, and again Avery was aware of the girl's eyes searching hers. 

"I haven't forgotten you, " she said, as they shook hands. "I knew youwould be Lady Evesham sooner or later after that day when you kept thewhole Hunt at bay. "

Avery felt herself flush. There seemed to her to be a covert insinuationin the remark. "I was very grateful to you for taking my part, " she said. 

"It was rather generous certainly, " agreed the bride coolly. "Dick, doget off my train! You're horribly clumsy to-day. "

The bridegroom hastened to remove himself to a respectful distance, whileIna turned her pretty cheek to Piers. "You may salute the bride, " shesaid graciously. "It's the only opportunity you will ever have. "

Piers kissed the cheek as airily as it was proffered, his dark eyesopenly mocking. "Good luck to you, Ina!" he said lightly. "I wish you thefirst and best of all that's most worth having. "

Her red lips curled in answer. "You are superlatively kind, " she said. 

Other guests came crowding round with congratulations, and they moved on. 

Piers knew everyone there, and presented one after another to his wifetill she felt absolutely bewildered. He did not present the best man, whoto her relief seemed disposed to keep out of their way. She wonderedgreatly if anything had passed between him and Piers, though by thelatter at least the incident seemed to be wholly forgotten. He was in hisgayest, most sparkling mood, and she could not fail to see that he wasvery popular whichever way he turned. People kept claiming his attention, and though he tried to remain near her he was drawn away at last by thebridegroom himself. 

Avery looked round her then for a quiet corner where Tudor mightfind her if he so desired, but while she was searching she came uponTudor himself. 

He joined her immediately, with evident relief. "For Heaven's sake, letus get away from this gibbering crowd!" he said. "They are like a hordeof painted monkeys. Come alone to the library! I don't think there aremany people there. "

Avery accompanied him, equally thankful to escape. They found thelibrary deserted, and Tudor made her sit down by the window in the mostcomfortable chair the room contained. 

"You look about as fit for this sort of show as Mrs. Lorimer, " heobserved drily. "She had the sense to stay away. "

"I couldn't, " Avery said. 

"For goodness' sake, " he exclaimed roughly, "don't let that young ruffiantyrannize over you! You will never know any peace if you do. "

Avery smiled a little and was silent. 

"Why are you so painfully thin?" he pursued relentlessly. "What'sthe matter with you? When I saw you in church just now I had apositive shock. "

She put out her hand to him. "I am quite all right, " she assured him, still faintly smiling. "I should have sent for you if I hadn't been. "

"It's high time you sent for me now, " said Tudor. 

He looked at her searchingly through his glasses, holding her hand firmlyclasped in his. 

"Are you happy?" he asked her suddenly. 

She started at the question, started and flushed. "Why--why do you ask methat?" she said in confusion. 

"Because you don't look it, " he said plainly. "No, don't be vexed withme! I speak as a friend--a friend who desires your happiness more thananything else on earth. And do you know, I think I should see a doctorpretty soon if I were you. If you don't, you will probably regret it. GetPiers to take you up to town! Maxwell Wyndham is about the best man Iknow. Go to him!"

"Thank you, " Avery said. "Perhaps I will. "

It was at this point that a sudden uproarious laugh sounded frombelow the window near which they sat, Avery looked round startled, and Tudor frowned. 

"It's that little brute of a best man--drunk as a lord. He's some sortof cousin of Guyes', just home from Australia; and the sooner he goesback the better for the community at large, I should say. "

"Piers knows him!" broke almost involuntarily from Avery. 

And with that swiftly she turned her head to listen, for the man outsidehad evidently gathered to himself an audience at the entrance of a tentthat had been erected for refreshments, and was declaiming at the top ofhis voice. 

"Eric Denys was the name of the man. He was a chum of mine. Samson weused to call him. This Evesham fellow killed him in the first round. I'venever forgotten it. I recognized him the minute I set eyes on him, thoughit's years ago now. And he recognized me! I wish you'd seen his face. "Again came the uncontrolled, ribald laughter. "A bully sort of squire, eh? I suppose he's a justice of the peace now, a law-giver, eh? Damnfunny, I call it!"

Tudor was on his feet. He looked at Avery, but she sat like a statue, making no sign. 

Another man was speaking in a lower tone, as though he were trying torestrain the first; but his efforts were plainly useless, for the bestman had more to say. 

"Oh, I can tell you a Queensland crowd is no joke. He'd have beenmanhandled if he hadn't bolted. Mistaken? Not I! Could anyone mistake aface like that? Go and ask the man himself, if you don't believe me!You'll find he won't deny it!"

"Shall we go?" suggested Tudor brusquely. 

Avery made a slight movement, wholly mechanical; but she did not turn herhead. Her whole attitude was one of tense listening. 

"I think I'll go in any case, " said Tudor, after a moment. "That fellowwill make an exhibition of himself if someone doesn't interfere. "

He went to the door, but before he reached it Avery turned in her chairand spoke. 

"He has gone inside for another drink. You had better let him have it. "

There was that in her voice that he had never heard before. He stoppedshort, looking back at her. 

"Let him have it!" she reiterated. "Let him soak himself with it! Youwon't quiet him any other way. "

Even as she spoke, that horrible, half-intoxicated laugh came tothem, insulting the beauty of the summer afternoon. Avery shiveredfrom head to foot. 

"Don't go!" she said. "Please!"

She rose as Tudor came back, rose and faced him, her face like death. 

"I think I must go home, " she said. "Will you find the car? No, I am notill. I--" She paused, seemed to grope for words, stopped, and suddenly abewildered look came into her face. Her eyes dilated. She gave a sharpgasp. Tudor caught her as she fell. 

CHAPTER VI

THE MASK

The bride and bridegroom departed amid a storm of rice and good wishes, Ina's face still wearing that slightly contemptuous smile to the last. Piers, in the foremost of the crowd, threw a handful straight into herlap as the car started, but only he and Dick Guyes saw her gather it upwith sudden energy and fling it back in his face. 

Piers dropped off the step laughing. "Ye gods! What fun for DickGuyes!" he said. 

A hand grasped his shoulder, and he turned and saw Lennox Tudor. 

"Hullo!" he said, sharply freeing himself. 

"I want a word with you, " said Tudor briefly. 

A wary look came into Piers' face on the instant. He looked at Tudor withthe measuring eye of a fencer. 

"What about?" he asked. 

"I can't tell you here. Will you walk back with me? Lady Evesham hasalready gone in the car. "

Piers' black brows went up, "Why was that? Wasn't she well?"

"No, " said Tudor curtly. 

"But she will send the car back, " said Piers, stubbornly refusing tobetray himself. 

"No, she won't. I told her we would walk. "

"The devil you did!" said Piers. 

He turned his back on Tudor, and went into the house. 

But Tudor was undaunted. In a battle of wills, he was fully a match forPiers. He kept close behind. 

Eventually, Piers turned upon him. "Look here! I'll give you five minutesin the library. I'm not going to walk three miles with you in thisblazing heat. It would be damned unhealthy for us both. Moreover, I'vepromised to spend the evening with Colonel Rose. "

It was the utmost he could hope for, and Tudor had the sense to acceptwhat he could get. He followed him to the library in silence. 

They found it empty, and Tudor quietly turned the key. 

"What's that for?" demanded Piers sharply. 

"Because I don't want to be disturbed, " returned Tudor. 

He moved forward into the middle of the room and faced Piers. 

"I have an unpleasant piece of news for you, " he said, in a grim, emotionless voice. "That cousin of Guyes'--you have met him before, Ithink? He claims to know something of your past, and he has beentalking--somewhat freely. "

"What has he been saying?" said Piers. 

He stood up before Tudor with the arrogance of a man who mocks defeat, but there was a gleam of desperation in his eyes--something of thecornered animal in his very nonchalance. 

A queer touch of pity moved Tudor from his attitude of cold informer. There was an undercurrent of something that was almost sympathy in hisvoice as he made reply. 

"The fellow was more or less drunk, but I am afraid he was rathercircumstantial. He recognized in you a man who had killed some chum ofhis years ago, in Queensland. "

"Well?" said Piers. 

Just the one word, uttered like a command! Tudor's softer impulse passed. 

"He was bawling it out at the top of his voice. A good many people musthave heard him. I was in this room with Lady Evesham. We heard also. "

"Well?" Piers said again. 

He spoke without stirring an eyelid, and again, involuntarily, Tudor wasmoved, this time with a species of unwilling admiration. The fellow wasno coward at least. 

He went on steadily. "It was impossible not to hear what the beast said. He mentioned names also, --your name and the name of the man whom healleged you had killed. Lady Evesham heard it. We both heard it. "

He paused. Piers had not moved. His face was like a mask in itscomposure, but it was a dreadful mask. Tudor had a feeling that it hidunutterable things. 

"What was the man's name?" Piers asked, after a moment. 

"Denys--Eric Denys. "

Piers nodded, as one verifying a piece of information. His next questioncame with hauteur and studied indifference. 

"Lady Evesham heard, you say? Did she pay any attention to these maudlinrevelations?"

"She fainted, " said Tudor shortly. 

"Oh? And what happened then?"

It was maddeningly cold-blooded; but it was the mask that spoke. Tudorrecognized that. 

"I brought her round, " he made answer. "No one else was present. Shebegged me to let her go home alone. I did so. "

"She also asked you to make full explanation to me?" came in measuredtones from Piers. 

"She did. " Tudor paused a moment as though he found some difficulty informing his next words. But he went on almost at once with resolution. "She said to me at parting: 'I must be alone. I must think. Beg Piers tounderstand! Beg him not to see me again to-day! I will talk to him inthe morning!' I promised to deliver the message exactly as she gave it. "

"Thank you, " said Piers. He turned with the words, moved away to thewindow, and looked forth at the now deserted marquee. 

Tudor stood mutely waiting; he felt as if it had been laid uponhim to wait. 

Suddenly Piers jerked his head round and glanced at the chair in whichAvery had been sitting, then abruptly turned himself and looked at Tudor. 

"What were you--and my wife--doing in here?" he said. 

Tudor frowned impatiently at the question. "Oh, don't be a fool, Evesham!" he said with vehemence. 

"I'm not a fool. " Piers left the window with the gait of a prowlinganimal; he stood again face to face with the other man. But though hisfeatures were still mask-like, his eyes shone through the mask; and theywere eyes of leaping flame. "Oh, I am no fool, I assure you, " he said, and in his voice there sounded a deep vibration that was almost like asnarl. "I know you too well by this time to be hoodwinked. You would comebetween us if you could. "

"You lie!" said Tudor. 

He did not raise his voice or speak in haste. His vehemence had departed. He simply made the statement as if it had been a wholly impersonal one. 

Piers' hands clenched, but they remained at his sides. He looked at Tudorhard, as if he did not understand him. 

After a moment Tudor spoke again. "I am no friend of yours, and I nevershall be. But I am the friend of your wife, and--whether you like it ornot--I shall remain so. For that reason, whatever I do will be in yourinterests as well as hers. I have not the smallest intention or desire tocome between you. And if you use your wits you will see that I couldn'tif I tried. Your marriage with her tied my hands. "

"What proof have I of that?" said Piers, his voice low and fierce. 

Tudor made a slight gesture of disgust. "I am dealing with facts, notproofs, " he said. "You know as well as I do that though you obtained herlove on false pretences, still you obtained it. Whether you will keep itor not remains to be seen, but she is not the sort of woman to solaceherself with anyone else. If you lose it, it will be because you failedto guard your own property--not because anyone deprived you of it. "

"Damnation!" exclaimed Piers furiously, and with the word the storm ofhis anger broke like a fiery torrent, sweeping all before it, "are youtaking me to task, you--you--for this accursed trick of Fate? How was Ito know that this infernal little sot would turn up here? Why, I don't somuch as know the fellow's name! I had forgotten his very existence! Wherethe devil is he? Let me find him, and break every bone in his body!" Hewhirled round to the door, but in a moment was back again. "Tudor! Damnyou! Where's the key?"

"In my pocket, " said Tudor quietly. "And, Piers, before you go--since Iam your ally in spite of myself--let me warn you to keep your head!There's no sense in murdering another man. It won't improve your case. There's no sense in running amok. Sit down for Heaven's sake, and reviewthe situation quietly!"

The calm words took effect. Piers stopped, arrested in spite of himselfby the other's steady insistence. He looked at Tudor with half-sullenrespect dawning behind his ungoverned fury. 

"Listen!" Tudor said. "The fellow has gone. I packed him off myself. Itwas a piece of sheer ill-luck that brought him home in time for thisshow. He starts for America _en route_ for Australia in less than a week, and it is utterly unlikely that either you or any of your friends willsee or hear anything more of him. Guyes himself is by no means keen onhim and only had him as best man because a friend failed him at the lastminute. If you behave rationally the whole affair will probably pass offof itself. Everyone knows the fellow was intoxicated, and no one islikely to pay any lasting attention to what he said. Treat the matter asunworthy of notice, and you will very possibly hear no more of it! But ifyou kick up a row, you will simply court disaster. I am an older man thanyou are. Take my word for it, --I know what I am talking about. "

Piers listened in silence. The heat had gone from his face, but his eyesstill gleamed with a restless fire. 

Tudor watched him keenly. Not by his own choice would he have rangedhimself on Piers' side, but circumstances having placed him there he wasoddly anxious to effect his deliverance. He was fighting heavy odds, andhe knew it, but there was a fighting strain in his nature also. Herelished the odds. 

"For Heaven's sake don't be a fool and give the whole show away!" heurged. "You have no enemies. No one will want to take the matter up ifyou will only let it lie. No one wants to believe evil of you. Possiblyno one will. "

"Except yourself!" said Piers, with a smile that showed his set teeth. 

"Quite so. " Tudor also smiled, a grim brief smile. "But then I happen toknow you better than most. You gave yourself away so far as I amconcerned that night in the winter. I knew then that once upon a time inyour career--you had--killed a man. "

"And you didn't tell Avery!" The words shot out unexpectedly. Piers wasplainly astonished. 

"I'm not a woman!" said Tudor contemptuously. "That affair wasbetween us two. "

"Great Scott!" said Piers. 

"At the same time, " Tudor continued sternly, "if I had known what I knownow, I would have told her everything sooner than let her ruin herhappiness by marrying you. "

Piers made a sharp gesture that passed unexplained. He had made noattempt at self-defence; he made none then. Perhaps his pride kicked atthe idea; perhaps in the face of Tudor's shrewd grip of the situation itdid not seem worth while. 

He held out his hand. "May I have that key?"

Tudor gave it to him. He was still watching narrowly, but Piers' facetold him nothing. The mask had been replaced, and the man behind it wassecurely hidden from scrutiny. Tudor would have given much to have rentit aside, and have read the thoughts and intentions it covered. But heknew that he was powerless. He knew that he was deliberately barred out. 

Piers went to the door and fitted the key into the lock. His actions wereall grimly deliberate. The volcanic fires which Tudor had seen raging buta few seconds before had sunk very far below the surface. Whatever washappening in the torture-chamber where his soul agonized, it was certainthat no human being--save possibly one--would ever witness it. What hesuffered he would suffer in proud aloofness and silence. It was only theeffect of that suffering that could ever be made apparent, when the soulcame forth again, blackened and shrivelled from the furnace. 

Yet ere he left Tudor, some impulse moved him to look back. 

He met Tudor's gaze with brooding eyes which nevertheless held a faintwarmth like the dim reflection of a light below the horizon. 

"I am obliged to you, " he said, and was gone before Tudor couldspeak again. 

CHAPTER VII

THE GATES OF HELL

Up and down, up and down, in a fever of restlessness, Avery walked. Shefelt trapped. The gloomy, tapestried room seemed to close her in like aprison. The whole world seemed to have turned into a monstrous place ofpunishment. One thing only was needed to complete the anguish of herspirit, and that was the presence of her husband. 

She could not picture the meeting with him. Body and soul recoiled fromthe thought. It would not be till the morning; that was her sole comfort. By the morning this fiery suffering would have somewhat abated. She wouldbe calmer, more able to face him and hear his defence--if defence therecould be. Somehow she never questioned the truth of the story. She knewthat Tudor had not questioned it either. She knew moreover that had itbeen untrue, Piers would have been with her long ago in vehementindignation and wrath. 

No, the thing was true. He was the man who had wrecked her life at itsbeginning, and now--now he had wrecked it again. He was the man whosehands were stained with her husband's blood. He had done the deed in oneof those wild tempests of anger with which she was so familiar. He haddone the deed, possibly unintentionally, but certainly with murderousimpulse; and then deliberately cynically, he had covered it up, and gonehis arrogant way. 

He had met her, he had desired her; with a few, quickly-stifled qualmshe had won her, trusting to luck that his sin would never find him out. And so he had made her his own, his property, his prisoner, the slave ofhis pleasure. She was bound for ever to her husband's murderer. 

Again body and soul shrank in quivering horror from the thought, and awild revolt awoke within her. She could not bear it. She must break free. The bare memory of his passion sickened her. For the first time in herlife hatred, fiery, intense, kindled within her. The thought of his touchfilled her with a loathing unutterable. He had become horrible to her, athing unclean, abominable, whose very proximity was pollution. She feltas if the blood on his hands had stained her also--the blood of the manshe had once loved. For a space she became like a woman demented. Thething was too abhorrent to be endured. 

And then by slow degrees her brain began to clear again. She grew alittle calmer. Monstrous though he was, he was still human. He was, in afashion, at her mercy. He had sinned, but it was in her hands that hispunishment lay. 

She was stronger than he. She had always known it. But she must keep herstrength. She must not waste it in futile resentment. She would need itall. He had entered her kingdom by subtlety; but she would drive himforth in the strength of a righteous indignation. To suffer him to remainwas unthinkable. It would be to share his guilt. 

Her thoughts tried to wander into the future, but she called themresolutely back. The future would provide for itself. Her immediate dutywas all she now needed to face. When that dreaded interview was over, when she had shut him out finally and completely then it would be timeenough to consider that. Probably some arrangement would have to be madeby which they would meet occasionally, but as husband and wife--never, never more. 

It was growing late. The dinner-gong had sounded, but she would not godown. She rang for Victor, and told him to bring her something on a tray. It did not matter what. 

He looked at her with keen little eyes of solicitude, and swiftly obeyedher desire. He then asked her if the dinner were to be kept for _MonsieurPierre_, who had not yet returned. She did not know what to say, but lesthe should wonder at her ignorance of Piers' doings, she answered in thenegative, and Victor withdrew. 

Then, again lest comment should be made, she forced herself to eat anddrink, though the food nauseated her. A feeling of sick suspense wasgrowing upon her, a strange, foreboding fear that hung leaden about herheart. What was Piers doing all this time? What effect had that message, delivered by Tudor, had upon him? Why had he not returned?

Time passed. The evening waned and became night. A full moon rose red andwonderful out of a bank of inky cloud, lighting the darkness with anoddly tropical effect. The night was tropical, breathless, terriblystill. It seemed as if a storm must be upon its way. 

She began to undress at last there in the moonlight. The heat was toointense to veil the windows, and she would not light the candles lestbats or moths should be attracted. At another time the eerieness of theshadowy room would have played upon her nerves, but to-night she was noteven aware of it. The shadows within were too dark, too sinister. 

A great weariness had come upon her. She ached for rest. Her body feltleaden, and her brain like a burnt-out furnace. The very capacity forthought seemed to have left her. Only the horror of the day loomedgigantic whichever way she turned, blotting out all beside. Prayer was animpossibility to her. She felt lost in a wilderness of doubt, forsakenand wandering, and terribly alone. 

If she could rest, if she could sleep, she thought that strength mightreturn to her--the strength to grapple with and overthrow the evil thathad entered into and tainted her whole life. But till sleep should cometo her, she was impotent. She was heavy and numb with fatigue. 

She lay down at length with a vague sense of physical relief beneath hercrushing weight of trouble. How unutterably weary she was! How tired--howtired of life!

Time passed. The moon rose higher, filling the room with its weird coldlight. Avery lay asleep. 

Exhaustion had done for her what no effort of will could haveaccomplished, closing her eyes, drawing a soft veil of oblivion acrossher misery. 

But it was only a temporary lull. The senses were too alert, too fevered, for true repose. That blessed interval of unconsciousness was all tooshort. After a brief, brief respite she began to dream. 

And in her dream she saw a man being tortured in a burning, fieryfurnace, imprisoned behind bars of iron, writhing, wrestling, agonizing, to be free. She saw the flames leaping all around him, and in the flameswere demon-faces that laughed and gibed and jested. She saw his hands allblistered in the heat, reaching out to her, straining through those cruelbars, beseeching her vainly for deliverance. And presently, gazing with asick horror that compelled, she saw his face.... 

With a gasping cry she awoke, started up with every nerve stretched andquivering, her heart pounding as if it would choke her. It was adream--it was a dream! She whispered it to herself over and over again, striving to control those awful palpitations. Surely it was all a dream!

Stay! What was that? A sound in the room beyond--a movement--a step! Shesprang up, obeying blind impulse, sped softly to the intervening door, with hands that trembled shot the bolt. Then, like a hunted creature, almost distracted by the panic of her dream, she slipped back to thegloomy four-poster, and cowered down again. 

Lying there, crouched and quivering, she began to count those hammeringheart-beats, and wondered wildly if the man on the other side of the doorcould hear them also. She was sure that he had been there, sure that hehad been on the point of entering when she had shot the bolt. 

He would not enter now, she whispered to her quaking heart. She would nothave to meet him before the morning. And by then she would be strong. Itwas only her weariness that made her so weak to-night!

She grew calmer. She began to chide herself for her senseless panic--shethe bearer of other people's burdens, who prided herself upon her steadynerve and calmness of purpose. She had never been hysterical in her lifebefore. Surely she could muster self-control now, when her need of it wasso urgent, so imperative. 

And then, just as a certain measure of composure had returned to her, something happened. Someone passed down the passage outside her room andpaused at the outer door. Her heart stood still, but again desperatelyshe steadied herself. That door was bolted also. 

Yes, it was bolted, but there was a hand upon it, --a hand that feltsoftly for the lock, found the key outside, softly turned it. 

Then indeed panic came upon Avery. Lying there, tense and listening, sheheard the quiet step return along the passage and enter her husband'sroom, heard that door also close and lock, and knew herself a prisoner. 

"Avery!"

Every pulse leapt, every nerve shrank. She started up, wide-eyed, desperate. 

"I will talk to you in the morning, Piers, " she said, steadying her voicewith difficulty. "Not now! Not now!"

"Open this door!" he said. 

There was dear command in his voice, and with it the old magnetic forcereached her, quick, insistent, vital. She threw a wild look round, butonly the dazzling moonlight met her eyes. There was no escape forher--no escape. 

She turned her face to the door behind which he stood. "Piers, please, not to-night!" she said beseechingly. 

"Open the door!" he repeated inexorably. 

Again that force reached her. It was like an electric current suddenlyinjected into her veins. Her whole body quivered in response. Almostbefore she knew it, she had started to obey. 

And then horror seized her--a dread unutterable. She stopped. 

"Piers, will you promise--"

"I promise nothing, " he said, in the same clear, imperious voice, "exceptto force this door unless you open it within five seconds. "

She stood in the moonlight, trembling, unnerved. He did not sound like aman bereft of reason. And yet--and yet--something in his voice appalledher. Her strength was utterly gone. She was just a weak, terrified woman. 

"Avery, " his voice came to her again, short and stern, "I don't wish tothreaten you; but it will be better for us both if I don't have to forcethe door. "

She forced herself to speak though her tongue felt stiff and dry. "Ican't let you in now, " she said. "I will hear what you have to say inthe morning. "

He made no reply. There was an instant of dead silence. Then there came asudden, hideous shock against the panel of the door. The socket of thebolt gave with the strain, but did not wholly yield. Avery shrank backtrembling against the shadowy four-poster. She felt as if a raging animalwere trying to force an entrance. 

Again came that awful shock. The wood splintered and rent, socket andbolt were torn free; the door burst inwards. 

There came a brief, fiendish laugh, and Piers broke in upon her. 

He recovered himself with a sharp effort, and stood breathing heavily, looking at her. The moonlight was full upon him, showing him deadly pale, and in his eyes there shone the red glare of hell. 

"Did you really think--a locked door--would keep me out?" he said, speaking with an odd jerkiness, with lips that twitched. 

She drew herself together with an instinctive effort at self-control. "Ithought you would respect my wish, " she said, her voice very low. 

"Did you?" said Piers. "Then why did you lock the door?"

He swung it closed behind him and came to her. 

"Listen to me, Avery!" he said. "You are not your own any longer--to giveor to take away. You are mine. "

She faced him with all the strength she could muster, but she could notmeet those awful eyes that mocked her, that devoured her. 

"Piers, " she said, almost under her breath, "remember, --what happensto-night we shall neither of us ever forget. Don't make me hate you!"

"Haven't you begun to hate me then?" he demanded. "Would you have lockedthat door against me if you hadn't?"

She heard the rising passion in his voice, and her heart fainted withinher. Yet still desperately she strove for strength. 

"I don't want to do anything violent or unconsidered. I must have time tothink. Piers, you have me at your mercy. Be merciful!"

He made a sharp movement. "Are you going to be merciful to me?" he said. 

She hesitated. There was something brutal in the question, yet itpierced her. She knew that he had divined all that had been passingwithin her during that evening of misery. She did not answer him, for shecould not. 

"Listen!" he said again. "What has happened has happened by sheerill-luck. The past is nothing to you. You have said so yourself. Thefuture shall not be sacrificed to it. If you will give me your solemnpromise to put this thing behind you, to behave as if it had never been, I will respect your wishes, I will do my utmost to help you to forget. But if you refuse--" He stopped. 

"If I refuse--" she repeated faintly. 

He made again that curious gesture that was almost one of helplessness. "Don't ask for mercy!" he said. 

In the silence that followed there came to her the certain knowledge thathe was suffering, that he was in an inferno of torment that goaded himinto fierce savagery against her, like a mad animal that will wreak itsmadness first upon the being most beloved. It was out of his torment thathe did this thing. She saw him again agonizing in the flames. 

If he had had patience then, that divine pity of hers might have come tohelp them both; but he read into her silence the abhorrence which alittle earlier had possessed her soul; and the maddening pain of it drovehim beyond all bounds. 

He seized her suddenly and savagely between his hands. "Are you any theless my wife, " he said, speaking between his teeth, "because you havefound out what manner of man I am?"

She resisted him, swiftly, instinctively, her hands against his breast, pressing him back. "I may be your wife, " she said gaspingly. "I amnot--your slave. "

He laughed a fiendish laugh. Her resistance fired him. He caught herfiercely to him. He covered her face, her throat, her arms, her hands, with kisses that burned her through and through, seeming to sear hervery soul. 

He crushed her in a grip that bruised her, that suffocated her. Hepressed his lips, hot with passion, to hers. 

"And now!" he said. "And now!"

She lay in his arms spent and quivering and helpless. The cruel triumphof his voice silenced all appeal. 

He went on deeply, speaking with his lips so close that she felt hisbreath scorch through her like the breath of a fiery furnace. 

"You are bound to me for better--for worse, and nothing will ever setyou free. Do you understand? If you will not be my wife, you shallbe--my slave. "

Quiveringly, through lips that would scarcely move she spoke at last. "Ishall never forgive you. "

"I shall never ask your forgiveness, " he said. 

So the gates of hell closed upon Avery also. She went down into theunknown depths. And in an agony of shame she learned the bitterest lessonof her life. 

CHAPTER VIII

A FRIEND IN NEED

"Why, Avery dear, is it you? Come in!" Mrs. Lorimer looked up with asmile of eager welcome on her little pinched face and went forward almostat a run to greet her. 

The brown holland smock upon which she had been at work fell to theground. It was Avery who, after a close embrace, stooped to pick it up. 

"Who is this for? Baby Phil? You must let me lend a hand, " she said. 

"Ah, my dear, I do miss you, " said Mrs. Lorimer wistfully. "The villagegirl who comes in to help is no good at all at needlework, and you knowhow busy Nurse always is. Jeanie does her best, and is a great help inmany ways. But she is but a child. However, " she caught herself up, "Imustn't start grumbling the moment you enter the house. Tell me aboutyourself, dear! You are looking very pale. Does the heat try you?"

"A little, " Avery admitted. 

She was spreading out the small garment on her knee, looking at itcritically, with eyes downcast. She certainly was pale that morning. Theonly colour in her face seemed concentrated in her lips. 

Mrs. Lorimer looked at her uneasily. There was something not quite normalabout her, she felt. She had never seen Avery look so statuesque. Shemissed the quick sweetness of her smile, the brightness and animation ofher glance. 

"It is very dear of you to come and see me, " she said gently, after amoment. "Did you walk all the way? I hope it hasn't been too much foryou. "

"No, " Avery said. "It did me good. "

She was on the verge of saying something further, but the words did notcome. 

She continued to smooth out the little smock with minute care, while Mrs. Lorimer watched her anxiously. 

"Is all well, dear?" she ventured at last. 

Avery raised her brows slightly, but her eyes remained downcast. "I wentto the wedding yesterday, " she said, after a momentary pause. 

"Oh, did you, dear? Stephen went, but I stayed at home. Did you see him?"

"Only from a distance, " said Avery. 

"It was a very magnificent affair, he tells me. " Mrs. Lorimer wasbecoming a little nervous. She had begun to be conscious of somethingtragic in the atmosphere. "And did you enjoy it, dear? Or was the heattoo great?"

"It was hot, " Avery said. 

Again she seemed to be about to say something more, and again she failedto do so. Her lips closed. 

Mrs. Lorimer remained silent also for several seconds. Then softly sherose, went to Avery, put her arms about her. 

"My darling!" she said fondly. 

That was all. No further questioning, no anxious probing, simply her lovepoured out in fullest measure upon the altar of friendship! And it movedAvery instantly and overwhelmingly, shattering her reserve, sweeping awaythe stony ramparts of her pride. 

She turned and hid her face upon Mrs. Lorimer's breast in an anguish oftears. 

It lasted for several minutes, that paroxysm of weeping. It was the pentmisery of hours finding vent at last. All she had suffered, all thehumiliation, the bitterness of desecrated love, the utter despair of hersoul, was in those tears. They shook her being to the depths. They seemedto tear her heart asunder. 

At last in broken whispers she began to speak. Still with those scaldingtears falling between her words, she imparted the whole miserable story;she bared her fallen pride. There was no other person in the world towhom she could thus have revealed that inner agony, that laceratingshame. But Mrs. Lorimer, the despised, the downtrodden, was as an angelfrom heaven that day. A new strength was hers, born of her friend's utterneed. She held her up, she sustained, her, through that the darkest hourof her life, with a courage and a steadfastness of which no one had everdeemed her capable. 

When Avery whispered at length, "I can never, never go back to him!" heranswer was prompt. 

"My dear, you must. It will be hard, God knows. But He will give youstrength. Oh Avery, don't act for yourself, dear! Let Him show the way!"

"If He will!" sobbed Avery, with her burning face hidden against herfriend's heart. 

"He will, dearest, He will, " Mrs. Lorimer asserted with conviction. "Heis much nearer to us in trouble than most of us ever realize. Only letHim take the helm; He will steer you through the storm. "

"I feel too wicked, " whispered Avery, "too--overwhelmed with evil. "

"My dear, feelings are nothing, " said the Vicar's wife, with a decisionthat would have shocked the Reverend Stephen unspeakably. "We can't helpour feelings, but we can put ourselves in the way of receiving help. Oh, don't you think He often lets us miss our footing just because He wantsus to lean on Him?"

"I don't know, " Avery said hopelessly. "But I think it will kill me togo back. Even if--if I pretended to forgive him--I couldn't possiblyendure to--to go on as if nothing had happened. Eric--my firsthusband--will always stand between us now. "

"Dear, are you sure that what you heard was not an exaggeration?" Mrs. Lorimer asked gently. 

"Oh yes, I am sure. " There was utter hopelessness in Avery's reply. "Ihave always known that there was something in his past, some cloud ofwhich he would never speak openly. But I never dreamed--never guessed--"She broke off with a sharp shudder. "Besides, he has offered noexplanation, no excuse, no denial. He lets me believe the worst, and hedoesn't care. He is utterly callous--utterly brutal. That is how I knowthat the worst is true. " She rose abruptly, as if inaction had becometorture to her. "Oh, I must leave him!" she cried out wildly. "I amnothing to him. My feelings are less than nothing. He doesn't really wantme. Any woman could fill my place with him equally well!"

"Hush!" Mrs. Lorimer said. She went to Avery and held her tightly, as ifshe would herself do battle with the evil within. "You are not to saythat, Avery. You are not to think it. It is utterly untrue. Suffering mayhave goaded him into brutality, but he is not wicked at heart. And, mydear, he is in your hands now--to make or to mar. He worships youblindly, and if his worship has become an unholy thing, it is because thethought of losing you has driven him nearly distracted. You can win itback--if you will. "

"I don't want to win it back!" Avery said. She suffered the arms abouther, but she stood rigid in their embrace, unyielding, unresponding. "Hislove is horrible to me! I abhor it!"

"Avery! Your husband!"

"He is a murderer!" Avery cried passionately. "He would murder me tooif--if he could bring himself to do without me! He hates me in his soul. "

"Avery, hush! You are distraught. You don't know what you are saying. "Mrs. Lorimer drew her back to her chair with tender insistence. "Sitdown, darling! And try--do try--to be quiet for a little! You are wornout. I don't think you can have had any sleep. "

"Sleep!" Avery almost laughed, and then again those burning, blindingtears rushed to her eyes. "Oh, you don't know what I've been through!"she sobbed. "You don't know! You don't know!"

"God knows, darling, " whispered Mrs. Lorimer. 

Minutes later, when Avery was lying back exhausted, no longer sobbing, only dumbly weeping, there came a gentle knock at the door. 

Mrs. Lorimer went to it quickly, and met her eldest daughter upon thepoint of entering. Jeanie looked up at her enquiringly. 

"Is anyone here?"

"Yes, dear. Avery is here. She isn't very well this morning. Run andfetch her a glass of milk!"

Jeanie hastened away. Mrs. Lorimer returned to Avery. 

"My darling, " she said, "do you know I think I can see a way to helpyou?"

Avery's eyes were closed. She put out a trembling hand. "You are verygood to me. "

"I wonder how often I have had reason to say that to you, " said Mrs. Lorimer softly. "Listen, darling! You must go back. Yes, Avery, you must!You must! But--you shall take my little Jeanie with you. "

Avery's eyes opened. Mrs. Lorimer was looking at her with tears in herown. 

"I know I may trust her to you, " she said. "But oh, you will take careof her! Remember how precious she is--and how fragile!"

"But, my dear--you couldn't spare her!" Avery said. 

"Yes, I can, --I will!" Mrs. Lorimer hastily rubbed her eyes and smiled--aresolute smile. "You may have her, dear. I know she will be happy withyou. And Piers is so fond of her too. She will be a comfort to you--toyou both, please God. She comforts everyone--my little Jeanie. It seemsto be her _rôle_ in life. Ah, here she comes! You shall tell her, dear. It will come better from you. "

"May I come in?" said Jeanie at the door. 

Her mother went to admit her. Avery sat up, and pushed her chair backagainst the window-curtain. 

Jeanie entered, a glass of milk in one hand and a plate in the other. "Good morning, dear Avery!" she said, in her gentle, rather tired voice. "I've brought you a hot cake too--straight out of the oven. It smellsquite good. " She came to Avery's side, and stood within the circle of herarm; but she did not kiss her or look into her piteous, tearstained face. "I hope you like currants, " she said. "Baby Phil calls them flies. Haveyou seen Baby Phil lately? He has just cut another tooth. He likeseverybody to look at it. "

"I must see it presently, " Avery said, with an effort. 

She drank the milk, and broke the cake, still holding Jeanie pressedto her side. 

Jeanie, gravely practical, held the plate. "I saw Piers ride by a littlewhile ago, " she remarked. "He was on Pompey. But he was going so fast hedidn't see me. He always rides fast, doesn't he? But I think Pompey likesit, don't you?"

"I don't know. " There was an odd frozen note in Avery's voice. "He has togo--whether he likes it or not. "

"But he is very fond of Piers, " said Jeanie. "And so is Caesar. " She gavea little sigh. "Poor Mikey! Do you remember how angry he used to be whenCaesar ran by?"

Avery suppressed a shiver. Vivid as a picture flung on a screen, thererose in her brain the memory of that winter evening when Piers and Mikeand Caesar had all striven together for the mastery. Again she seemedto hear those savage, pitiless blows. She might have known! She mighthave known!

Sharply she wrenched herself back to the present. "Jeanie darling, " shesaid, "your mother says that you may come and stay at the Abbey for alittle while. Do you--would you--like to come?"

Her voice was unconsciously wistful. Jeanie turned for the first time andlooked at her. 

"Oh, Avery!" she said. "Stay with you and Piers?"

Her eyes were shining. She slid a gentle arm round Avery's neck. 

"You would like to?" Avery asked, faintly smiling. 

"I would love to, " said Jeanie earnestly. She looked across at hermother. "Shall you be able to manage, dear?" she asked in hergrown-up way. 

Mrs. Lorimer stifled a sigh. "Oh yes, Jeanie dear. I shall do all right. Gracie will help with the little ones, you know. "

Jeanie smiled at that. "I think I will go and talk to Gracie, " she said, quietly releasing herself from Avery's arm. 

But at the door she paused. "I hope Father won't mind, " she said. "But hedid say I wasn't to have any more treats till my Easter holiday-task wasfinished. "

"I will make that all right, dear, " said Mrs. Lorimer. 

"Thank you, " said Jeanie. "Of course I can take it with me. I expect Ishall get more time for learning it at the Abbey. You might tell himthat, don't you think?"

"I will tell him, darling, " said Mrs. Lorimer. 

And Jeanie smiled and went her way. 

CHAPTER IX

THE GREAT GULF

"Hullo!" said Piers. "Has the Queen of all good fairies come to call?"

He strode across the garden with that high, arrogant air of his as of onewho challenges the world, and threw himself into the vacant chair by thetea-table at which his wife sat. 

The blaze of colour that overspread her pale face at his coming fadedas rapidly as it rose. She glanced at him momentarily, underfluttering lids. 

"Jeanie has come to stay, " she said, her voice very low. 

His arm was already round Jeanie who had risen to meet him. He pulled herdown upon his knee. 

"That is very gracious of her, " he said. "Good Heavens, child! You are aslight as a feather! Why don't you eat more?"

"I am never hungry, " explained Jeanie. She kissed him and then drewherself gently from him, sitting down by his side with innate dignity. "Have you been riding all day?" she asked. "Isn't Pompey tired?"

"Caesar and Pompey are both dead beat, " said Piers. "And I--" he lookeddeliberately at Avery, "--am as fresh as when I started. "

Again, as it were in response to that look, her eyelids fluttered; butshe did not raise them. Again the colour started and died in her cheeks. 

"Have you had anything to eat?" she asked. 

"Nothing, " said Piers. 

He took the cup she offered him, and drained it. There was a fitful gleamin his dark eyes as of a red, smouldering fire. 

But Jeanie's soft voice intervening dispelled it. "How very hungry youmust be!" she said in a motherly tone. "Will bread and butter and cake beenough for you?"

"Quite enough, " said Piers. "Like you, Jeanie, I am not hungry. " Hehanded back his cup to be filled again. "But I have a livelythirst, " he said. 

"It has been so hot to-day, " observed Avery. 

"It is never too hot for me, " he rejoined. "Hullo! Who's that?"

He was staring towards the house under frowning brows. A figure had justemerged upon the terrace. 

"Dr. Tudor!" said Jeanie. 

Again Piers' eyes turned upon his wife. He looked at her with asombre scrutiny. After a moment she lifted her own and resolutelyreturned the look. 

"Won't you go and meet him?" she said. 

He rose abruptly, and strode away. 

Avery's eyes followed him, watching narrowly as the two men met. LennoxTudor, she saw, offered his hand, and after the briefest pause, Pierstook it. They came back slowly side by side. 

Again, unobtrusively, Jeanie rose. Tudor caught sight of her almostbefore he saw Avery. 

"Hullo!" he said. "What are you doing here?"

Jeanie explained with her customary old-fashioned air of responsibility:"I have come to take care of Avery, as she isn't very well. "

Tudor's eyes passed instantly and very swiftly to Avery's face. He bentslightly over the hand she gave him. 

"A good idea!" he said brusquely. "I hope you will take care ofeach other. "

He joined them at the tea-table, and talked of indifferent things. Pierstalked also with that species of almost fierce gaiety with which Averyhad become so well acquainted of late. She was relieved that there was notrace of hostility apparent in his manner. 

But, notwithstanding this fact, she received a shock of surprise when atthe end of a quarter of an hour he got up with a careless: "Come along, my queen! We'll see if Pompey has got the supper he deserves. "

Even Tudor looked momentarily astonished, but as he watched Piers saunteraway with his arm round Jeanie's thin shoulders his expression changed. He turned to her abruptly. "How are you feeling to-day?" he enquired. "Ihad to come in and ask. "

"It was very kind of you, " she answered. 

He smiled in his rather grim fashion. "I came more for my ownsatisfaction than for yours, " he observed. "You are better, are you?"

She smiled also. "There is nothing the matter with me, you know. "

He gave her a shrewd look through his glasses. "No, " he said. "I know. "

He said no more at all about her health, nor did he touch upon any otherintimate subject, but she had a very distinct impression that he did notcease to observe her closely throughout their desultory conversation. Sheeven tried to divert his attention, but she knew she did not succeed. 

He remained with her until they saw Piers and Jeanie returning, and thensomewhat suddenly he took his leave. He joined the two on the lawn, sentJeanie back to her, and walked away himself with his host. 

What passed between them she did not know and could not even conjecture, for she did not see Piers again till they met in the hall before dinner. Jeanie was with her, looking delicately pretty in her white muslin frock, and it was to her that Piers addressed himself. 

"Come here, my queen! I want to look at you. "

She went to him readily enough. He took her by the shoulders. 

"Are you made of air, I wonder? I should be ashamed of you, Jeanie, ifyou belonged to me. "

Jeanie looked up into the handsome, olive face with eyes that smiledlove upon him. "I expect it's partly because you are so big andstrong, " she said. 

"No, it isn't, " said Piers. "It's because you're so small and weak. Averywill have to take you away to the sea again, what? You'd like that. "

"And you too!" said Jeanie. 

"I? Oh no, you wouldn't want me. Would you, Avery?"

He deliberately addressed her for the first time that day. Over thechild's head his eyes flashed their mocking message. She felt as if hehad struck her across the face. 

"Would you?" he repeated, with arrogant insistence. 

She tried to turn the question aside. "Well, as we are not going--"

"But you are going, " he said. "You and Jeanie. How soon can you start?To-morrow?"

Avery looked at him in astonishment. "Are you in earnest?"

"Of course I'm in earnest, " he said, with a frown that was oddly boyish. "You had better go to Stanbury Cliffs. It suited you all right in thespring. Fix it up with Mrs. Lorimer first thing in the morning, and godown in the afternoon!"

He spoke impatiently. Opposition or delay always set him chafing. 

Jeanie looked at him with wonder in her eyes. "But you, Piers!" shesaid. "What will you do?"

"I? Oh, I shall be busy, " he said. "I've got a lot on hand just now. Besides, " again the gibing note was in his voice, "you'll get along muchbetter without me. Avery says so. "

"She didn't!" exclaimed Jeanie, with a sudden rare touch of indignation. 

"All right. She didn't, " laughed Piers. "My mistake!" He flicked thechild's cheek teasingly, and then abruptly stooped and kissed it. "Don'tbe angry, Queen of the fairies! It isn't worth it. "

She slipped her arm round his neck on the instant. "I'm not, dear Piers. I'm not angry. But we shouldn't want to go away and leave you alone. Weshouldn't really. "

He laughed again, carelessly, without effort. "No, but you'd get on allright without me. You and Avery are such pals. What do you say to it, Avery? Isn't it a good idea?"

"I think perhaps it is, " she said slowly, her voice very low. 

He straightened himself, and looked at her, and again that vivid, painfulblush covered her face and neck as though a flame had scorched her. Shedid not meet his eyes. 

"Very well then. It's settled, " he said jauntily. "Now let's go and havesome dinner!"

He kept up his light attitude throughout the meal, save that once heraised his wine-glass mockingly to the woman on the wall. But his moodwas elusive. Avery felt it. It was as if he played a juggling game on theedge of the pit of destruction, and she watched him with a leaden heart. 

She rose from the table earlier than usual, for the atmosphere of thedining-room oppressed her almost unbearably. It was a night of heavystillness. 

"You ought to go to bed, dear, " she said to Jeanie. 

"Oh, must I?" said Jeanie wistfully. "I never sleep much on these hotnights. One can't breath so well lying down. "

Avery looked at her with quick anxiety, but she had turned to Piers andwas leaning against him with a gentle coaxing air. 

"Please, dear Piers, would it tire you to play to us?" she begged. 

He looked down at her for a moment as if he would refuse; then verygently he laid his hand on her head, pressing back the heavy, clusteringhair from her forehead to look into her soft eyes. 

"What do you want me to play?" he said. 

She made a wide gesture of the hands and let them fall. "Something big, "she said. "Something to take to bed with us and give us happy dreams. "

His lips--those mobile, sensitive lips--curved in a smile that made Averyavert her eyes with a sudden hot pang. He released Jeanie, and turnedaway to the door. 

"I'll see what I can do, " he said. "You had better go into thegarden--you and Avery. "

They went, though Jeanie looked as if she would have preferred toaccompany him to the music-room. It was little cooler on the terrace thanin the house. The heat brooded over all, dense, black, threatening. 

"I hope it will rain soon, " said Jeanie, drawing her chair closeto Avery's. 

"There will be a storm when it does, " Avery said. 

"I like storms, don't you?" said Jeanie. 

Avery shook her head. "No, dear. "

She was listening in tense expectancy, waiting with a dread that wasalmost insupportable for the music that Piers was about to make. Theywere close to the open French window of the music-room, but there was nolight within. Piers was evidently sitting there silent in the darkness. Her pulses were beating violently. Why did he sit so still? Why wasthere no sound?

A flash of lightning quivered above the tree-tops and was gone. Jeaniedrew in her breath, saying no word. Avery shrank and closed her eyes. Shecould hear her heart beating audibly, like the throbbing of a distantdrum. The suspense was terrible. 

There came from far away the growl and mutter of the rising storm. Theleaves of the garden began to tremble. And then, ere that roll ofdistant thunder had died away, another sound came through thedarkness--a sound that was almost terrifying in its suddenness, and thegrand piano began to speak. 

What music it uttered, Avery knew not. It was such as she had never heardbefore. It was unearthly, it was devilish, a fiendish chorus that waslike the laughter of a thousand demons--a pandemonium that shocked herunutterably. 

Just as once he had drawn aside for her the veil that shrouded the HolyPlace, so now he rent open the gates of hell and showed her the horrorsof the prison-house, forcing her to look upon them, forcing her tounderstand. 

She clung to Jeanie's hand in nightmare fear. The anguish of therevelation was almost unendurable. She felt as if he had caught herquivering soul and was thrusting it into an inferno from which it couldnever rise again. Through and above that awful laughter she seemed tohear the crackling of the flames, to feel the blistering heat that hadconsumed so many, to see the red glare of the furnace gaping widebefore her. 

She cried out without knowing it, and covered her face. "O God, " sheprayed wildly, "save us from this! Save us! Save us!"

The man at the piano could not have heard her cry. Of that she wascertain. But their souls were in more subtle communion than anyestablished by bodily word or touch. He must have known, have fathomedher anguish. For quite suddenly, as if a restraining hand had beenlaid upon him, he checked that dread torrent of sound. A few bitterchords, a few stray notes that somehow spoke to her of a spiritescaped and wandering alone and naked in a desert of indescribableemptiness, and then silence--a crushing, fearful silence like theashes of a burnt-out fire. 

"And in hell he lift up his eyes. " ... Why did those words flashthrough her brain as though a voice had uttered them? She bowed her headlower, lower, barely conscious of Jeanie's enfolding arms. She was as onein the presence of a vision, hearing words that were spoken to her alone. 

"And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments.... "

She waited quivering. Surely there was more to come. She listened for iteven while she shrank in every nerve. 

It came at length slowly, heavily, like a death-sentence uttered withinher. "Between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that they whichwould pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, thatwould come from thence. "

The words were spoken, the vision passed. Avery sat huddled in her chairas one stricken to the earth, rapt in a trance of dread foreboding fromwhich Jeanie was powerless to rouse her. 

The lightning flashed again, and the thunder crashed above them like theclanging of brazen gates. From the room behind them came the sound of aman's laugh, but it was a laugh that chilled her to the soul. 

Again there came the sound of the piano, --a tremendous chord, then aslow-swelling volume of harmony, a muffled burst of music like the comingof a great procession still far away. 

Avery sprang upright as one galvanized into action by an electric force. "I cannot bear it!" she cried aloud, "I cannot bear it!"

She almost thrust Jeanie from her. "Oh, go, child, go! Tell him--tellhim--" Her voice broke, went into a gasping utterance more painful thanspeech, finally dropped into hysterical sobbing. 

Jeanie sprang into the dark room with a cry of, "Piers, oh, Piers!"--andthe music stopped, went out utterly as flame extinguished in water. 

"What's the matter?" said Piers. 

His voice sounded oddly defiant, almost savage. But Jeanie was tooprecipitate to notice it. 

"Oh, please, will you go to Avery?" she begged breathlessly. "I think sheis frightened at the storm. "

Piers left the piano with a single, lithe movement that carried him tothe window in a second. He passed Jeanie and was out on the terracealmost in one bound. 

He discerned Avery on the instant, as she discerned him. A vivid flash oflightning lit them both, lit the whole scene, turned the night intosudden, glaring day. Before the thunder crashed above them he had caughther to him. They stood locked in the darkness while the greatreverberations rolled over their heads, and as he held her he felt thewild beating of her heart against his own. 

She had not resisted him, she did not resist him. She even convulsivelyclung to him. But her whole body was tense against his, tense andquivering like a stretched wire. 

As the last of the thunder died, she raised her head and spoke. 

"Piers, haven't you tortured me enough?"

He did not speak in answer. Only she heard his breath indrawn sharply asthough he checked some headlong word or impulse. 

She stifled a great sob that took her unawares, and even as she did soshe felt his arms slacken. He set her free. 

"There is nothing to be afraid of, " he said. "Better come indoors beforethe rain begins. "

They went within, Jeanie pressing close to Avery in tender solicitude. 

They turned on the lights, but throughout the frightful storm thatfollowed, Piers leaned against the window-frame sombrely watching. 

Avery sat on a sofa with Jeanie, her throbbing head leaning against thecushions, her eyes closed. 

Nearly half an hour passed thus, then the storm rolled sullenly away; andat last Piers turned. 

As though his look pierced her, Avery's eyes opened. She looked back athim, white as death, waiting for him to speak. 

"Hadn't you better send Jeanie to bed?" he said. 

Jeanie rose obediently. "Good-night, dear Avery. "

Avery sat up. Her hand was pressed hard upon her heart. "I am coming withyou, " she said. 

Piers crossed the room to the door. He held it open for them. 

Jeanie lifted her face for his kiss. An unaccustomed shyness seemed tohave descended upon her. "Good-night, " she whispered. 

He bent to her. "Good-night, Jeanie!"

Her arms were round his neck in a moment. "Piers, thank you for yourmusic, but--but--"

"Good-night, dear!" said Piers again gently, but with obvious decision. 

"Good-night!" said Jeanie at once. 

She would have passed out instantly, but Avery paused, detaining her. 

Her eyes were raised steadily to her husband's face. "I will saygood-night, too, " she said. "I am spending the night with Jeanie. She isnot used to sleeping alone, and--the storm may come back. "

She was white to the lips as she said it. She looked as if shewould faint. 

"Oh, but--" began Jeanie, "I don't mind really. I--"

With a brief, imperious gesture Piers silenced her for the secondtime. He looked over her head, straight into Avery's eyes for a long, long second. 

Then: "So be it!" he said, and with ironical ceremony he bowed her out. 

CHAPTER X

SANCTUARY

"Hullo, sonny! You!"

Edmund Crowther turned from his littered writing-table, and rose to greethis visitor with a ready smile of welcome. 

"Hullo!" said Piers. "How are you getting on? I was in town and thoughtI'd look you up. By Jove, though, you're busy! I'd better not stay. "

"Sit down!" said Crowther. 

He took him by the shoulders with kindly force and made him sit in hiseasy-chair. "I'm never too busy to be pleased to see you, Piers, " hesaid. 

"Very decent of you, " said Piers. 

He spoke with a short laugh, but his dark eyes roved round restlessly. There was no pleasure in his look. 

The light from Crowther's unshaded lamp flared full upon him. In hisfaultless evening dress he looked every inch an aristocrat. That air ofthe old-Roman patrician was very strong upon him that night. But therewas something behind it that Crowther was quick to note, something thatreminded him vividly of an evening months before when he had fought handto hand with the Evesham devil and had with difficulty prevailed. 

He pushed his work to one side and foraged in his cupboard for drinks. 

Piers watched him with an odd, half-scoffing smile about his lips. "Doyou never drink when you are by yourself?" he asked. 

"Not when I'm working, " said Crowther. 

"I see! Work is sacred, what?"

Crowther looked at him. The mockery of the tone had been scarcely veiled;but there was no consciousness of the fact in Crowther's quiet reply. "Yes; just that, sonny. "

Piers laughed again, a bitter, gibing laugh. "I suppose it's more to youthan your own soul--or anyone else's, " he said. 

Crowther paused in the act of pouring out. "Now what do you mean?" hesaid. 

His eyes, direct and level, looked full at Piers. They held no anger, noindignation, only calm enquiry. 

Piers faced the look with open mockery. "I mean, my good friend, " hesaid, "that if I asked you to chuck it all and go round the world withme--you'd see me damned first. "

Crowther's eyes dropped gravely to the job in hand. "Say when!" he said. 

Piers made a restless movement. "Oh, that's enough! Strong drink is notmy weakness. Why don't you answer my question?"

"I didn't know you asked one, " said Crowther. 

He set the tumbler in front of Piers and began to help himself. 

Piers watched him for a couple of seconds longer, then leapt impulsivelyto his feet. "Oh, I'm going!" he said. "I was a fool to come!"

Crowther set down the decanter and straightened himself. He did not seemto move quickly, but he was at the door before Piers reached it. 

He stood massively before him, blocking the way. "You've behavedfoolishly a good many times in your life, my lad, " he said. "But Ishouldn't call you a fool. Why do you want me to go round the world withyou? Tell me that!"

His tone was mild, but there was a certain grimness about himnotwithstanding. He looked at Piers with a faint smile in his eyes thathad in it a quality of resolution that made itself felt. Piers stoodstill before him, half-chafing, half-subdued. 

"Tell me!" Crowther said again. 

"Oh, what's the good?" With a defiance that was oddly boyish Piers flungthe question. "I see I've applied in the wrong quarter. Let me go!"

"I will not, " Crowther said. Deliberately he raised a hand and pointed tothe chair from which Piers had just sprung. "Sit down again, sonny, andwe'll talk. "

Piers swung round with an impatient gesture and went to the window. Hethrew it wide, and the distant roar of traffic filled the quiet room likethe breaking of the sea. 

After a distinct pause Crowther followed him. They stood together gazingout over the dim wilderness of many roofs and chimneys to where the crudeglare of an advertisement lit up the night sky. 

Piers was absolutely motionless, but there was a species of violence inhis very stillness, as of a trapped animal preparing to make a wild rushfor freedom. His attitude was feverishly tense. 

Suddenly and very quietly Crowther's hand came forth and linked itself inhis arm. "What is it, lad?" he said. 

Piers made a jerky movement as if to avoid the touch, but the hand closedslowly and steadily upon him. He turned abruptly and met Crowther's eyes. 

"Crowther, " he said, "I've behaved like a cur. I--broke that promise Imade to you. "

He ground out the words savagely, between clenched teeth. Yet his lookwas defiant still. He held himself as a man defying shame. 

Crowther's eyes never varied. They looked straight back with a widekindliness greater than compassion, wholly devoid of reproach. 

"All right, Piers, " he said simply. 

Piers stared at him for a moment as one in blank amazement, then verystrangely his face altered. The hardness went from it like a masksuddenly rent away. He made an inarticulate sound and turned from theopen window. 

A second later he was sunk in Crowther's chair with his head in hishands, sobbing convulsively, painfully, uncontrollably, in an agony thattore like a living thing at the very foundations of his being. 

A smaller man than Crowther might have been at a loss to deal with suchdistress, but Crowther was ready. He had seen men in extremities ofsuffering before. He knew how to ease a crushing burden. He sat down onthe arm of the chair and thrust a strong hand over Piers' shoulder, saying no word. 

Minutes passed ere by sheer violence that bitter anguish wore itself outat last. There came a long, piteous silence, then Piers' hand feelingblindly upwards. Crowther's grip encompassed it like a band of iron, butstill for a space no word was spoken. 

Then haltingly Piers found his voice. "I'm sorry--beastly sorry--to havemade such an ass of myself. You're jolly decent to me, Crowther. "

To which Crowther made reply with a tenderness as simple as his own soul. "You're just a son to me, lad. "

"A precious poor specimen!" muttered Piers. 

He remained bowed for a while longer, then lifted at length a face ofawful whiteness and leaned back upon Crowther's arm, still fast holdingto his hand. 

"You know, you're such an awfully good chap, " he said, "that one getsinto the way of taking you for granted. But I won't encroach on yourgoodness much longer. You're busy, what?" He smiled a quivering smile, and glanced momentarily towards the littered table. 

"It will keep, " said Crowther quietly. 

"No, it won't. Life isn't long enough. On my soul, do you know it's likecoming into sanctuary to enter a place like this? I feel as if I'd shutmy own particular devil on the other side of the door. But he'll wait forme all right. We shan't lose each other on that account. "

He uttered a laugh that testified more to the utter weariness of his soulthan its bitterness. 

"Where are you staying?" said Crowther. 

"At Marchmont's. At least I've got a room there. I haven't any definiteplans at present. "

"Unless you go round the world with me, " said Crowther. 

Piers' eyes travelled upwards sharply. "No, old chap. I didn't mean it. Iwouldn't have you if you'd come. It was only a try-on, that. "

"Some try-ons fit, " said Crowther gravely. He turned towards the table, and reached for the drink he had prepared for Piers. "Look here, sonny!Have a drink!"

Piers drank in silence, Crowther steadily watching. 

"You would have to be back by March, " he said presently. 

"What?" said Piers. 

It was like a protest, the involuntary startled outcry of the patientunder the probe. Crowther's hand grasped his more closely. "I'll go withyou on that understanding, Piers, " he said. "You'll be wanted then. "

Piers groaned. "If it hadn't been for--that, " he said, "I'd have endedthe whole business with a bullet before now. "

"No, you wouldn't, " said Crowther quietly. "You don't know yourself, boy, when you talk like that. You've given up Parliament for the present?"

"For good, " said Piers. He paused, as if bracing himself for a greateffort. "I went to Colonel Rose yesterday and told him I must withdraw. He had heard the rumours of course, but he advised me to hold on. I toldhim--I told him--" Piers stopped and swallowed hard, then forced himselfon, --"I told him there was truth in it, and then--he let me go. "

There fell a painful silence, broken by Crowther. "How did this rumourget about?"

"Oh, that was at Ina Rose's wedding. " Piers' words came more freely now, as if the obstruction were passed. "A cousin of Guyes', the bridegroom, was there. He came from Queensland, had been present that night when Ifought and killed Denys, and he recognized me. Then--he got tight andtold everybody who would listen. It was rotten luck, but it had tohappen. " He paused momentarily; then: "I wasn't enjoying myself, Crowther, before it happened, " he said. 

"I saw that, sonny. " Crowther's arm pressed his shoulder in sympathy. It was characteristic of the man to display understanding rather thanpity. He stood ever on the same level with his friends, however lowthat level might be. 

Again Piers looked at him as if puzzled by his attitude. "You've doneme a lot of good, " he said abruptly. "You've made me see myself as youdon't see me, dear old fellow, and never would. Well, I'm going. Thanks awfully!"

He made as if he would rise, but Crowther restrained him. "No, lad. I'mnot parting with you for to-night. We'll send round for your traps. I'llput you up. "

"What? No, no, you can't! I shall be all right. Don't worry about me!"

Piers began to make impulsive resistance, but Crowther's hold onlytightened. 

"I'm not parting with you to-night, " he reiterated firmly. "And lookhere, boy! You've come to me for help, and, to the best of my ability, I'll help you. But first, --are you sure you are justified in leavinghome? Are you sure you are not wanted?"

"Wanted! I!" Piers looked at him from under eye-lids that quivered alittle. "Yes, " he said, after a moment, with a deliberation that soundedtragically final. "I am quite sure of that, Crowther. "

Crowther asked no more. He patted Piers' shoulder gently and rose. 

"Very well, " he said. "I'll take that six months' trip round the worldwith you. "

"But you can't!" protested Piers. "I never seriously thought you could! Ionly came to you because--" he halted, and a slow, deep flush mounted tohis forehead--"because you've saved me before, " he said. "And I wasso--so horribly near--the edge of the pit this time. "

He spoke with an odd boyishness, and Crowther's lips relaxed in a smilethat had in it something of a maternal quality. "So long as I can helpyou, you can count on me, " he said. 

"You're the only man in the world who can help me, " Piers saidimpulsively. "At least--" he smiled himself--"I couldn't take it fromanyone else. But I'm not taking this from you, Crowther. You've got yourown pet job on hand, and I'm not going to hinder it. "

Crowther was setting his writing-table in order. He did not speak fora few seconds. Then: "I am a man under authority, sonny, " he said. "Myown pet job, as you call it, doesn't count if it isn't what's wantedof me. It has waited twenty-five years; it'll keep--easy--for anothersix months. "

Piers got up. "I'm a selfish brute if I let you, " he said, irresolutely. 

"You can't help yourself, my son. " Crowther turned calm eyes upon him. "And now just sit down here and write a line home to say what you aregoing to do!"

He had cleared a space upon the table; he pulled forward a chair. 

"Oh, I can't! I can't!" said Piers quickly. 

But Crowther's hand was on his shoulder. He pressed him down. "Do it, lad! It's got to be done, " he said. 

And with a docility that sat curiously upon him, Piers submitted. Heleaned his head on his hand, and wrote. 

CHAPTER XI

THE FALLING NIGHT

"You ought to rest, you know, " said Tudor. "This sort of thing isdownright madness for you. "

They were walking together in the February twilight along the long, darkavenue of chestnuts that led to Rodding Abbey. Avery moved with laggingfeet that she strove vainly to force to briskness. 

"I don't think I do too much, " she said. "It isn't good for me to beidle. It makes me--it makes me mope. "

The involuntary falter in the words spoke more eloquently than the wordsthemselves, but she went on after a moment with that same forcedbriskness to which she was trying to compel her dragging limbs. "I onlyran down to the Vicarage after lunch because it is Jeanie's birthday. Itis no distance across the Park. It seemed absurd to go in state. "

"You are not wise, " said Tudor in a tone that silenced all argument. 

Avery gave a little sigh and turned from the subject. "I thought Jeanielooking very fragile. Mrs. Lorimer has promised that she may come to meagain just as soon as I am able to have her. "

"Ah! Jeanie is a comfort to you?" said Tudor. 

To which she answered with a catch in her breath, "The greatest comfort. "

They reached the great grey house and entered. A letter lay on the tableby the door. Avery took it up with a sharp shiver. 

"Prom Piers?" asked Tudor abruptly. 

She bent her head. "He writes--every week. "

"When is he coming home?" He uttered the question with a directness thatsounded almost brutal, but Avery caught the note of anxiety behind it andunderstood. 

She opened the letter in silence, and read it by the waning light of theopen door. The crackling of the fire behind her was the only soundwithin. Without, the wind moaned desolately through the bare trees. Itwas going to rain. 

Slowly Avery raised her head at last and gazed out into thegathering dark. 

"Come inside!" said Tudor peremptorily. 

His hand closed upon her arm, he almost compelled her. "How painfullythin you are!" he said, as she yielded. "Are you starving yourself offood as well as rest?"

Again she did not answer him. Her eyes were fixed, unseeing. Theyfocused their gaze upon the fire as he led her to it. She sat down inthe chair he placed for her and then very suddenly she began to shiveras if with an ague. 

"Don't!" said Tudor sharply. 

He bent over her, his hands upon her shoulders, holding her. 

She controlled herself, and leaned back. "Do sit down, doctor! I'm afraidI'm very rude--very forgetful. Will you ring for tea? Piers is in town. He writes very kindly, very--very considerately. He is only just backfrom Egypt--he and Mr. Crowther. The last letter was from Cairo. Wouldyou--do you care to see what he says?"

She offered him the letter with the words, and after the faintesthesitation Tudor took it. 

"I have come back to be near you. " So without preliminary the letter ran. "You will not want me, I know, but still--I am here. For Heaven's sake, take care of yourself, and have anything under the sun that you need. Your husband, Piers. "

It only covered the first page. Tudor turned the sheet frowningly andreplaced it in its envelope. 

"He always writes like that, " said Avery. "Every week--all through thewinter--just a sentence or two. I haven't written at all to him thoughI've tried--till I couldn't try any more. "

She spoke with a weariness so utter that it seemed to swamp all feeling. Tudor turned his frowning regard upon her. His eyes behind their glassesintently searched her face. 

"How does he get news of you?" he asked abruptly. 

"Through Mrs. Lorimer. She writes to him regularly, I believe, --eithershe or Jeanie. I suppose--presently--"

Avery stopped, her eyes upon the fire, her hands tightly claspedbefore her. 

"Presently?" said Tudor. 

She turned her head slightly, without moving her eyes. "Presently therewill have to be some--mutual arrangement made. But I can't see my wayyet. I can't consider the future at all. I feel as if night were falling. Perhaps--for me--there is no future. "

"May I take your pulse?" said Tudor. 

She gave him her hand in the same tired fashion. He took it gravely, feeling her pulse, his eyes upon her face. 

"Have you no relations of your own?" he asked her suddenly. 

She shook her head. "No one near. My parents were both only children. "

"And no friends?" he said. 

"Only Mrs. Lorimer. I lost sight of people when I married. And then--"Avery halted momentarily "after my baby girl died, for a long time Ididn't seem to care for making new friends. "

"Ah!" said Tudor, his tone unwontedly gentle. "You will soon have anotherchild to care for now. "

She made a slight gesture as of protest. "Do you know I can't pictureit? I do not feel that it will be so. I believe one of us--orboth--will die. "

She spoke calmly, so calmly that even Tudor, with all his experience, wasmomentarily shocked. "Avery!" he said sharply. "You are morbid!"

She looked at him then with her tired eyes. "Am I?" she said. "I reallydon't feel particularly sad--only worn out. When anyone has beenburnt--badly burnt--it destroys the nerve tissues, doesn't it? They don'tsuffer after that has happened. I think that is my case. "

"You will suffer, " said Tudor. 

He spoke brutally; he wanted to rouse her from her lethargy, to piercesomehow that dreadful calm. 

But he failed; she only faintly smiled. 

"I can bear bodily suffering, " she said, "particularly if it leads tofreedom and peace. "

He got up as if it were he who had been pierced. "You won't die!" he saidharshly. "I won't let you die!"

Her eyes went back to the fire, as if attracted thereto irresistibly. "Most of me died last August, " she said in a low voice. 

"You are wrong!" He stood over her almost threateningly. "When you holdyour child in your arms you will see how wrong. Tell me, when is yourhusband coming back to you?"

That reached her. She looked up at him with a quick hunted look. "Never!" she said. 

He looked back at her mercilessly. "Never is a long time, Lady Evesham. Do you think he will be kept at arm's length when you are through yourtrouble? Do you think--whatever his sins--that he has no claim uponyou? Mind, I don't like him. I never did and I never shall. But you--youare sworn to him. "

He had never spoken so to her before. She flinched as if he had struckher with a whip. She put her hands over her face, saying no word. 

He stood for a few moments stern, implacable, looking down at her. Thenvery suddenly his attitude changed. His face softened. He stooped andtouched her shoulder. 

"Avery!" His voice was low and vehement; he spoke into her ear. "When youfirst kicked him out, I was mean enough to feel glad. But I soonsaw--that he took all that is vital in you with him. Avery, --mydear, --for God's sake--have him back!"

She did not speak or move, save for a spasmodic shuddering that shook herwhole frame. 

He bent lower. "Avery, I say, can't you--for the baby's sake--anywayconsider it?"

She flung out her hands with a cry. "The child is cursed! The child willdie!" There was terrible conviction in the words. She lifted a torturedface. "Oh, don't you see, " she said piteously, "how impossible it is forme? Don't--don't say any more!"

"I won't, " said Tudor. 

He took the outflung hands and held them closely, restrainingly, soothingly. 

"I won't, " he said again. "Forgive me for saying so much! Poor girl!Poor girl!"

His lips quivered a little as he said it, but his hold was full ofsustaining strength. She grew gradually calmer, and finally submitted tothe gentle pressure with which he laid her back in her chair. 

"You are always so very good to me, " she said presently. "I sometimeswonder how I ever came to--to--" She stopped herself abruptly. 

"To refuse me?" said Tudor quietly. "I always knew why, Lady Evesham. Itwas because you loved another man. It has been the case for as long as Ihave known you. "

He turned from her with the words wholly without emotion and took up hisstand on the hearth-rug. 

"Now may I talk to you about your health?" he said professionally. 

She leaned forward slowly. "Dr. Tudor, first will you make me a promise?"

He smiled a little. "I don't think so. I never do make promises. "

"Just this once!" she pleaded anxiously. "Because it means a greatdeal to me. "

"Well?" said Tudor. 

"It is only--" she paused a moment, breathing quickly--"only that youwill not--whatever the circumstances--let Piers be sent for. "

"I can't promise that, " said Tudor at once. 

She clasped her hands beseechingly. "You must--please--you must!"

He shook his head. "I can't. I will undertake that he shall not come toyou against your will. I can't do more than that. "

"Do you suppose you could keep him out?" Avery said, a note of quiveringbitterness in her voice. 

"I am quite sure I can, " Tudor answered steadily. "Don't troubleyourself on that head! I swear that, unless you ask for him, he shallnot come to you. "

She shivered again and dropped back in her chair. "I shall never dothat--never--never--so long as I am myself!"

"Your wishes--whatever they are--shall be obeyed, " Tudor promisedgravely. 

And with that gently but very resolutely he changed the subject. 

CHAPTER XII

THE DREAM

How many times had he paced up and down the terrace? Piers could not havesaid. He had been there for hours, years, half a lifetime, waiting--waiting eternally for the summons that never came. 

Could it have been only that morning that Mrs. Lorimer's urgent telegramhad reached him? Only that morning that he had parted from Crowther forthe first time in six months? It seemed aeons ago. And yet here he was inthe cold grey dusk, still waiting to be called to his wife's side. 

The night was fast approaching--a bitter, cheerless night with a drivingwind that seemed to promise snow. It was growing darker every moment. Only her window shone like a beacon in the gloom. How long would he haveto wait? How long? How long?

He had brought a doctor with him in obedience to Mrs. Lorimer's message, transmitting Tudor's desire. Tudor was not satisfied. He wanted MaxwellWyndham, the great surgeon--a man still comparatively young in years buthigh in his profession--a man in whose presence--so it was said--nopatient ever died. That of course was an exaggeration--some hystericalwoman's tribute to his genius. But genius he undoubtedly possessed andthat of a very high order. 

If anyone could save her, it would be Maxwell Wyndham. So Piers toldhimself each time he turned in his endless pacing and looked at thatlighted window. Tudor believed in him. And--yes, he believed in him also. There had been something in the great man's attitude, something ofarrogant self-assurance that had inspired him with confidence almostagainst his will. He had watched him saunter up the stairs with his handsthrust into his pockets and an air of limitless leisure pervading hisevery movement, and he had been exasperated by the man's deliberation andsubtly comforted at the same time. He was thankful that he had been ableto secure him. 

Ah, what was that? A cry in the night! The weird, haunting screech of anowl! He ridiculed himself for the sudden wild thumping of his heart. Butwould they never call him? This suspense was tearing at the very roots ofhis being. 

Away in the distance a dog was barking, fitfully, peevishly--the bark ofa chained animal. Piers stopped in his walk and cursed the man who hadchained him. Then--as though driven by an invisible goad--he pressed on, walking resolutely with his back turned upon the lighted window, forcinghimself to pace the whole length of the terrace. 

He had nearly reached the further end when a sudden fragrance sweptacross his path--pure, intoxicating, exquisitely sweet. Violets! Theviolets that grew in the great bed under the study-window! The violetsthat Sir Beverley's bride had planted fifty years ago!

The thought of his grandfather went through him like a stab through theheart. He clenched his hands and held his breath while the spasm passed. Never since the night Victor had summoned Avery to comfort him, had hefelt so sick a longing for the old man's presence. For a few lingeringseconds it was almost more than he could bear. Then he turned about andfaced the chill night-wind and that lighted window, and the anguish ofhis vigil drove out all other griefs. How long had he yet to wait? Howlong? How long?

There came a low call behind him on the terrace. He wheeled, strangling astartled exclamation in his throat. A man's figure--a broad, powerfulfigure--lounged towards him. He seemed to be wearing carpet slippers, forhe made no sound. It was Maxwell Wyndham, and Piers' heart ceased tobeat. He stood as if turned to stone. All the blood in his body seemed tobe singing in his ears. His head was burning, the rest of him cold--coldas ice. He would have moved to meet the advancing figure, but he couldnot stir. He could only stop and listen to that maddening tarantellabeating out in his fevered brain. 

"I say, you know--" the voice came to him out of an immensity of space, as though uttered from another world--"it's a bit too chilly for thissort of thing. Why didn't you put on an overcoat?"

A man's hand, strong and purposeful, closed upon his arm and impelled himtowards the house. 

Piers went like an automaton, but he could not utter a word. His mouthfelt parched, his tongue powerless. 

Avery! Avery! The woman he had wronged--the woman he worshipped somadly--for whom his whole being mental and physical craved desperately, yearning, unceasingly, --without whom he lived in a torture that was neverdormant! Avery! Avery! Was she lying dead behind that lighted window? Ifso, if so, those six months of torment had been in vain. He would end hismisery swiftly and finally before it turned his brain. 

Maxwell Wyndham was guiding him towards the conservatory where a dimlight shone. It was like an altar-flame in the darkness--that place wherefirst their lips had met. The memory of that night went through him likea sword-thrust. Oh, Avery! Oh, Avery!

"Now look here, " said Maxwell Wyndham, in his steady, emotionless voice;"you're wanted upstairs, but you can't go unless you are absolutely sureof yourself. "

Wanted! His senses leapt to the word. Instinctively he pulled himselftogether, collecting all his strength. He spoke, and found to hissurprise that speech was not difficult. 

"She has asked for me?"

"Yes; but, " Wyndham's tone was impressive, "I warn you, she is notaltogether herself. And--she is very desperately ill. "

"The child?" questioned Piers. 

"The child never breathed. " Curt and cold came the answer. "I have had toconcentrate all my energies upon saving the mother's life, and--to beopen with you--I don't think I have succeeded. There is still a chance, but--" He left the sentence unfinished. 

They had reached the conservatory, and, entering, it was Piers who ledthe way. His face, as they emerged into the library, was deathly, but hewas absolute master of himself. 

"I believe there is a meal in the dining-room, " he said. "Will you helpyourself while I go up?"

"No, " said Wyndham briefly. "I am coming up with you. "

He kept a hand upon Piers' arm all the way up the stairs, deliberatelyrestraining him, curbing the fevered impetuosity that urged him with agrim insistence that would not yield an inch to any chafing for freedom. 

He gave utterance to no further injunctions, but his manner was eloquentof the urgent need for self-repression. When Piers entered his wife'sroom, that room which he had not entered since the night of Ina'swedding, his tread was catlike in its caution, and all the eagerness wasgone from his face. 

Then only did the doctor's hand fall from him, so that headvanced alone. 

She was lying on one side of the great four-poster, straight andmotionless as a recumbent figure on a tomb. Her head was in deep shadow. He could see her face only in vaguest outline. 

Softly he approached, and Mrs. Lorimer, rising silently from a chairby the bedside, made room for him. He sat down, sinking as it wereinto a great abyss of silence, listening tensely, but hearing not somuch as a breath. 

The doctor took up his stand at the foot of the bed. In the adjoiningroom sat Lennox Tudor, watching ceaselessly, expectantly, it seemed toPiers. Behind him moved a nurse, noiselessly intent upon polishingsomething that flashed like silver every time it caught his eye. 

Suddenly out of the silence there came a voice. "If I go down tohell, --Thou art there also. If I take the wings of the morning--the wingsof the morning--" There came a pause, the difficult pause ofuncertainty--"the wings of the morning--" murmured the voice again. 

Piers leaned upon the pillow. "Avery!" he said. 

She turned as if some magic moved her. Her hands came out to him, piteously weak and trembling. "Piers, --my darling!" she said. 

He gathered the poor nerveless hands into a tight clasp, kissing thempassionately. He forgot the silent watcher at the foot of the bed, forgotlittle Mrs. Lorimer hovering in the shadows, and Tudor waiting with thenurse behind him. They all slipped into nothingness, and Avery--hiswife--alone remained in a world that was very dark. 

Her voice came to him in a weak whisper. "Oh, Piers, I'vebeen--wanting you so!"

"My own darling!" he whispered back. "I will never leave you again!"

"Oh yes, you will!" she answered drearily. "You always say that, but youare always gone in the morning. It's only a dream--only a dream!"

He slipped his arms beneath her and drew her to his breast. "It is not adream, Avery, " he told her very earnestly. "I am here in the flesh. I amholding you. "

"I know, " she said. "It's always so. "

The weary conviction of her tone smote cold to his heart. He gathered hercloser still. He pressed his lips to her forehead. 

"Avery, can't you feel me?" he said. 

Her head sank against his shoulder. "Yes--yes, " she said. "But you havealways done that. "

"Done what, darling?"

"Imposed your will on mine--made me feel you. " Her voice quivered; shebegan to cry a little, weakly, like a tired child. "Do you remember--whatyou said--about--about--the ticket of leave?" she said. "You leave yourdungeon--my poor Piers. But you have to go back again--when the leave hasexpired. And I--I am left alone. "

The tears were running down her face. He wiped them tenderly away. 

"My dearest, if you want me--if you need me, --I will stay, " he said. 

"But you can't, " she said hopelessly. "Even to-night--even to-night--Ithought you were never coming. And I went at last to look for you--behindyour iron bars. But, oh, Piers, the agony of it! And I couldn't reach youafter all, though I tried so hard--so hard. "

"Never mind, my darling!" he whispered. "We are together now. "

"But we shan't be when the morning comes, " sobbed Avery. "I know it isall a dream. It's happened so many, many times. "

He clasped her closer, hushing her with tender words, vowing he wouldnever leave her, while the Shadow of Death gathered closer about them, threatening every instant to come between. 

She grew calmer at last, and presently sank into a state ofsemi-consciousness lying against his breast. 

Time passed. Piers did not know how it went. With his wife clasped in hisarms he sat and waited, waited--for the falling of a deeper night or thecoming of the day--he knew not which. His brain felt like a stoppedwatch; it did not seem to be working at all. Even the power to sufferseemed to have left him. He felt curiously indifferent, strangelysubmissive to circumstances, --like a man scourged into the numbness ofexhaustion. He knew at the back of his mind that as soon as his vitalityreasserted itself the agony would return. The respite could not last, butwhile it lasted he knew no pain. Like one in a state of coma, he was noteven aware of thought. 

It might have been hours later, or possibly only minutes, thatMaxwell Wyndham came round to his side and bent over him, a quiethand on his shoulder. 

"You had better lay her down, " he said. "She won't wake now. "

"What?" said Piers sharply. 

The words had stabbed him back to understanding in a second. He glared atthe doctor with eyes half-savage, half-frightened. 

"No, no!" said Wyndham gently. "I don't mean that. She is asleep. She isbreathing. But she will rest better if you lay her down. "

The absolute calmness with which he spoke took effect upon Piers. Heyielded, albeit not very willingly, to the mandate. 

They laid her down upon the pillow between them, and then for manyseconds Wyndham stood, closely watching, almost painfully intent. Pierswaited dumbly, afraid to move, afraid to speak. 

The doctor turned to him at last. "What about that meal you spoke of?Shall we go down and get it?"

Piers stared at him. "I am not leaving her, " he said in a quick whisper. 

Wyndham's hand was on his shoulder again--a steady, compelling hand. "Ohyes, you are. I want to talk to you, " he said. "She is sleepingnaturally, and she won't wake for some time. Come!"

There was nothing peremptory about him, yet he gained his end. Piersrose. He hung for a moment over the bed, gazing hungrily downwards uponthe shadowy, motionless form, then in silence turned. 

Tudor had risen. He met them in the doorway, and between him and theLondon doctor a few words passed. Then the latter pushed his hand throughPiers' arm, and drew him away. 

They descended the wide oak stairs together and entered the dining-room. Piers moved like a man dazed. His companion went straight to the tableand poured out a drink, which he immediately held out to Piers, lookingat him with eyes that were green and very shrewd. 

"I think we shall save her, " he said. 

Piers drank in great gulps, and came to himself. "I say, I'm beastlyrude!" he said, with sudden boyishness. "For goodness' sake, helpyourself! Sit down, won't you?"

Maxwell Wyndham seated himself with characteristic deliberation ofmovement. He had fiery red hair that shone brazenly in the lamplight. 

"I can't eat by myself, Sir Piers, " he remarked, after a moment. "And itisn't particularly good for you to drink without eating either, in yourpresent frame of mind. "

Piers sat down, his attitude one of intense weariness. "You really thinkshe'll pull through?" he said. 

"I think so, " Wyndham answered. "But it won't be a walk over. She will beill for a long time. "

"I'll take her away somewhere, " said Piers. "A quiet time at the seawill soon pick her up. "

Maxwell Wyndham said nothing. 

Piers glanced at him with quick impatience. "Don't you advise that?"

The green eyes countered his like the turn of a swordblade. "Certainlyquiet is essential, " said Wyndham enigmatically. 

Piers made a chafing movement. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, " very calmly came the answer, "that if you really value yourwife's welfare, you will let someone else take her away. "

It was a straight thrust, and it went home. Piers flinched sharply. Butin a moment he had recovered himself. He was on guard. He looked atWyndham with haughty enquiry. 

"Why do you say that?"

"Because her peace of mind depends upon it. " Wyndham's answer came withbrutal directness. "You will find, when this phase of extreme weaknessis past, that your presence is not desired. She may try to hide it fromyou. That depends upon the kind of woman she is. But the fact willremain--does remain--that for some reason best known to yourself, sheshrinks from you. I am not speaking rashly without knowledge. When awoman is in agony she can't help showing her soul. I saw your wife'ssoul to-day. "

Piers was white to the lips. He sat rigid, no longer looking at thedoctor, but staring beyond him fixedly at a woman's face on the wall thatsmiled and softly mocked. 

"What did she say to you?" he said, after a moment. 

"She said, " curtly Wyndham made reply, --"it was at a time when shecould hardly speak at all--'Even if I ask for my husband, don'tsend--don't send!'"

"Yet you fetched me!" Piers' eyes came swiftly back to him; they shonewith a fierce glint. 

But Wyndham was undismayed. "I fetched you to save her life, " he said. "There was nothing else to be done. She was in delirium, and nothing elsewould calm her. "

"And she wanted me!" said Piers. "She begged me to stay with her!"

"I know. It was a passing phase. When her brain is normal, she will haveforgotten. "

Piers sprang to his feet with sudden violence. "But--damn it--she is mywife!" he cried out fiercely. 

Maxwell Wyndham leaned across the table. "She is your wife--yes, " hesaid. "But isn't that a reason for considering her to the very utmost?Have you always done that, I wonder? No, don't answer! I've no right toask. Only--you know, doctors are the only men in the world who know justwhat women have to put up with, and the knowledge isn't exactlyexhilarating. Give her a month or two to get over this! You won't besorry afterwards. "

It was kindly spoken, so kindly that the flare of anger died out of Pierson the instant, and the sweetness dormant in him--that latent sweetnessthat had won Avery's heart--came swiftly to the surface. 

He threw himself down again, looking into the alert, green eyes withan oddly rueful smile. "All right, doctor!" he said. "I shan't go toher if she doesn't want me. But I've got to make sure she doesn't, haven't I? What?"

There was a wholly unconscious note of pathos in the last word that sentthe doctor's mouth up at one corner in a smile that was more pitying thanhumorous. "I should certainly do that, " he said. "But I'm afraid you'llfind I've told you the beastly truth. "

"For which I am obliged to you, " said Piers, with a bow. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE HAND OF THE SCULPTOR

During the week that followed, no second summons came to Piers from hiswife's room. He hung about the house, aimless, sick at heart, with hopesinking ever lower within him like a fire dying for lack ofreplenishment. 

He could neither sleep nor eat, and Victor watched him with piteousthough unspoken solicitude. Victor knew the wild, undisciplinedtemperament of the boy he had cherished from his cradle, and he lived inhourly dread of some sudden passionate outburst of rebellion, somedesperate act that should lead to irremediable disaster. He had notforgotten that locked drawer in the old master's bureau or the quickrelease it contained, and he never left Piers long alone in its vicinity. 

But he need not have been afraid. Piers' thoughts never strayed in thatdirection. If his six months in Crowther's society had brought him noother comfort, they had at least infused in him a saner outlook andsteadier balance. Very little had ever passed between them on the subjectof the tragedy that had thrown them together. After the first bitteroutpouring of his soul, Piers had withdrawn himself with so obvious adesire for privacy that Crowther had never attempted to cross theboundary thus clearly defined. But his influence had made itself feltnotwithstanding. It would have been impossible to have lived with the manfor so long without imbibing some of that essential greatness of soulthat was his main characteristic, and Piers was ever swift to feel theeffect of atmosphere. He had come to look upon Crowther with a reverencethat in a fashion affected his daily life. That which Crowther regardedas unworthy, he tossed aside himself without consideration. Crowther hadnot despised him at his worst, and he was determined that he would showhimself to be not despicable. He was moreover under a solemn promise toreturn to Crowther when he found himself at liberty, and in verygratitude to the man he meant to keep that promise. 

But, albeit he was braced for endurance, the long hours of waiting werevery hard to bear. His sole comfort lay in the fact that Avery was makinggradual progress in the right direction. It was a slow and difficultrecovery, as Maxwell Wyndham had foretold, but it was continuous. Tudorassured him of this every day with a curt kindliness that had grown onhim of late. It was his own fashion of showing a wholly involuntarysympathy of which he was secretly half-ashamed, and which he well knewPiers would have brooked in no other form. It established an odd sort oftruce between them of which each was aware the while he sternly ignoredit. They could never be friends. It was fundamentally impossible, but atleast they had, if only temporarily, ceased to be enemies. 

Little Mrs. Lorimer's sympathy was also of a half-ashamed type. She didnot want to be sorry for Piers, but she could not wholly restrain herpity. The look in his eyes haunted her. Curiously it made her think ofsome splendid animal created for liberty, and fretting its heart out inutter, hopeless misery on a chain. 

She longed with all her motherly heart to comfort him, and by the ironyof circumstance it fell to her to deal the final blow to what was left ofhis hope. She wondered afterwards how she ever brought herself to thetask, but it was in reality so forced upon her that she could not evadeit. Avery, lying awake during the first hours of a still night, heard herhusband's feet pacing up and down the terrace, and the mischief was done. She was thrown into painful agitation and wholly lost her sleep inconsequence. When Mrs. Lorimer arrived about noon on the following day, she found her alarmingly weak, and the nurse in evident perplexity. 

"I am sure there is something worrying her, " the latter said to Mrs. Lorimer. "I can't think what it is. "

But directly Mrs. Lorimer was alone with Avery, the trouble came out. Forshe reached out fevered hands to her, saying, "Why, oh, why did youpersuade me to come back here? I knew he would come if I did!"

Again the emergency impelled Mrs. Lorimer to a display of common-sensewith which few would have credited her. 

"Oh, do you mean Piers, dear?" she said. "But surely you are not afraidof him! He has been here all the time--ever since you were so ill. "

"And I begged you not to send!" groaned Avery. 

"My dear, " said Mrs. Lorimer very gently, "it was his right to be here. "

"Then that night--that night--" gasped Avery, "he really did come tome--that night after the baby was born. "

"My darling, you begged for him so piteously, " said Mrs. Lorimerapologetically. 

Avery's lip quivered. "That was just what I feared--what I wanted to makeimpossible, " she said. "When one is suffering, one forgets so. "

"But surely it was the cry of your heart, darling, " urged Mrs. Lorimertremulously. "And do you know--poor lad--he looks so ill, so miserable. "

But Avery's face was turned away. "I can't help it, " she said. "Ican't--possibly--see him again. I feel as if--as if there were a curseupon us both, and that is why the baby died. Oh yes, morbid, I know;perhaps wrong. But--I have been steeped in sin. I must be free for atime. I can't face him yet. I haven't the strength. "

"Dearest, he will never force himself upon you, " said Mrs. Lorimer. 

Avery's eyes went instinctively to the door that led into the room thatPiers had occupied after his marriage. The broken bolt had been removed, but not replaced. A great shudder went through her. She covered her facewith her hands. 

"Oh, beg him--beg him to go away, " she sobbed, "till I am strong enoughto go myself!"

Argument was useless. Mrs. Lorimer abandoned it with the wisdom born ofclose friendship. Instead, she clasped Avery tenderly to her and gaveherself to the task of calming her distress. 

And when that was somewhat accomplished, she left her to go sadly insearch of Piers. 

She found him sitting on the terrace with the morning-paper beside himand Caesar pressed close to his legs, his great mottled head resting onhis master's knee. 

He was not reading. So much Mrs. Lorimer perceived before with a sharpturn of the head he discovered her. He was on his feet in a moment, andshe saw his boyish smile for an instant, only for an instant, as he cameto meet her. She noted with a pang how gaunt he looked and how deep werethe shadows about his eyes. Then he had reached her, and was holding bothher hands almost before she realized it. 

"I say, you're awfully good to come up every day like this, " he said. "Ican't think how you make the time. Splendid sun to-day, what? It's like aday in summer, if you can get out of the wind. Come and bask with me!"

He drew her along the terrace to his sheltered corner, and made her sitdown, spreading his newspaper on the stone seat for her accommodation. Her heart went out to him as he performed that small chivalrous act. Shecould not help it. And suddenly the task before her seemed so monstrousthat she felt she could not fulfil it. The tears rushed to her eyes. 

"What's the matter?" said Piers gently. He sat down beside her, andslipped an encouraging hand through her arm. "Was it something you cameout to say? Don't mind me! You don't, do you?"

His voice was softly persuasive. He leaned towards her, his darkeyes searching her face. Mrs. Lorimer felt as if she were about tohurt a child. 

She blew her nose, dried her eyes, and took the brown hand very tightlybetween her own. "My dear, I'm so sorry for you--so sorry for youboth!" she said. 

A curious little glint came and went in the eyes that watched her. Piers'fingers closed slowly upon hers. 

"I've got to clear out, what?" he said. 

She nodded mutely; she could not say it. 

He was silent awhile; then: "All right, " he said. "I'll go thisafternoon. "

His voice was dead level, wholly emotionless, but for a few seconds hisgrip taxed her endurance to the utmost. Then, abruptly, it relaxed. 

He bent his black head and kissed the nervous little hands that wereclasped upon his own. 

"Don't you fret now!" he said, with an odd kindness that was to her morepathetic than any appeal for sympathy. "You've got enough burdens of yourown to bear without shouldering ours. How is Jeanie?"

Mrs. Lorimer choked down a sob. "She isn't a bit well. She has a cold andsuch a racking cough. I'm keeping her in bed. "

"I'm awfully sorry, " said Piers steadily. "Give her my love! And lookhere, when Avery is well enough, let them go away together, will you? Itwill do them both good. "

"It's dear of you to think of it, " said Mrs. Lorimer wistfully. "Yes, itdid do Jeanie good in the autumn. But Avery--"

"It will do Avery good too, " he said. "She can take that cottage atStanbury Cliffs for the whole summer if she likes. Tell her to! And lookhere! Will you take her a message from me?"

"A written message?" asked Mrs. Lorimer. 

He pulled out a pocket-book. "Six words, " he said. He scrawled them, toreout the leaf and gave it to her, holding it up before her eyes that shemight read it. 

"Good-bye till you send for me. Piers. "

"That's all, " he said. "Thanks awfully. She'll understand that. Andnow--I say, you're not going to cry any more, are you?" He shook his headat her with a laugh in his eyes. "You really mustn't. You're much tootender-hearted. I say, it was a pity about the baby, what? I thought thebaby might have made a difference. But it'll be all the same presently. She's wanting me really. I've known that ever since that night--youknow--ever since I held her in my arms. "

He spoke with absolute simplicity. She had never liked him better than atthat moment. His boyishness had utterly disarmed her, and not till laterdid she realize how completely he had masked his soul therewith. 

She parted with him with a full heart, and had a strictly private littlecry on his account ere she returned to Avery. Poor lad! Poor lad! Andwhen he wasn't smiling, he did look so ill!

The same thought struck Crowther a few hours later as Piers sat with himin his room, and devoted himself with considerable adroitness to makinghis fire burn through as quickly as possible, the while he brieflyinformed him that his wife was considered practically out of danger andhad no further use for him for the present. 

Crowther's heart sank at the news though he gave no sign of dismay. 

"What do you think of doing, sonny?" he asked, after a moment. 

"I? Why, what is there for me to do?" Piers glanced round momentarily. "I wonder what you'd do, Crowther, " he said, with a smile that wasscarcely gay. 

Crowther came to his side, and stood there massively, while he filled hispipe. "Piers, " he said, "I presume she knows all there is to know of thatbad business?"

Piers rammed the poker a little deeper into the fire and said nothing. 

But Crowther had broken through the barricade of silence at last, andwould not be denied. 

"Does she know, Piers?" he insisted. "Did you ever tell her how thething came to pass? Does she know that the quarrel was forced uponyou--that you took heavy odds--that you did not of your own free willavoid the consequences? Does she know that you loved her before you knewwho she was?"

He paused, but Piers remained stubbornly silent, still prodding at thered coals. 

He bent a little, taking him by the shoulder. "Piers, answer me!"

Again Piers' eyes glanced upwards. His face was hard. "Oh, get away, Crowther!" he growled. "What's the good?" And then in his winning wayhe gripped Crowther's hand hard. "No, I never told her anything, " hesaid. "And I made it impossible for her to ask. I couldn't urgeextenuating circumstances because there weren't any. Moreover, itwouldn't have made a ha'porth's difference if I had. So shunt thesubject like a good fellow! She must take me at my worst--at my worst, do you hear?--or not at all. "

"But, my dear lad, you owe it to her, " began Crowther gravely. 

Piers cut him short with a recklessness that scarcely veiled the pain inhis soul. "No, I don't! I don't owe her anything. She doesn't think anyworse of me than I am. She knows me jolly well, --better than you do, mostworthy padre-elect. If she ever forgives me, it won't be because shethinks I've been punished enough, but just because she is my mate, --andshe loves me. " His voice sank upon the words. 

"And you are going to wait for that?" said Crowther. 

Piers nodded. He dropped the poker with a careless clatter and stretchedhis arms high above his head. "You once said something to me about theHand of the Sculptor, " he said. "Well, if He wants to do any shaping sofar as I am concerned, now is His time. I am willing to be shaped. "

"What do you mean?" asked Crowther. 

Piers' eyes were half-closed, and there was a drawn look about the lidsas of a man in pain. "I mean, my good Crowther, " he said, "that the mireand clay have ceased to attract me. My house is empty--swept andgarnished, --but it is not open to devils at present. You want to know myplans. I haven't any. I am waiting to be taken in hand. "

He spoke with a faint smile that moved Crowther to deep compassion. "Youwill have to be patient a long while, maybe, sonny, " he said. 

"I can be patient, " said Piers. He shifted his position slightly, clasping his hands behind his head, so that his face was in shadow. "Youthink that is not much like me, Crowther, " he said. "But I can wait for athing if I feel I shall get it in the end. I have felt that--ever sincethe night after I went down there. She was so desperately ill. She wantedme--just to hold her in my arms. " His voice quivered suddenly. He stoppedfor a few seconds, then went on in a lower tone. "She wasn't--quiteherself at the time--or she would never have asked for me. But it made adifference to me all the same. It made me see that possibly--justpossibly--there is a reason for things, --that even misery and ironmay have their uses--that there may be something behind itall--what?--Something Divine. "

He stopped altogether, and pushed his chair further still into shadow. 

Crowther was smoking. He did not speak for several seconds, but smoked onwith eyes fixed straight before him as though they scanned a far-distanthorizon. At length: "I rather think the shaping has begun, sonny, " hesaid. "You don't believe in prayer now?"

"No, I don't, " said Piers. 

Crowther's eyes came down to him. "Can't you pray without believing?" hesaid slowly. 

Piers made a restless movement. "What should I pray for?"

Crowther was smiling slightly--the smile of a man who has begun to see, albeit afar off, the fulfilment of a beloved project. 

"Do you know, old chap, " he said, "I expect I seem a fool to you; butit's the fools who confound the wise, isn't it? I believe a thunderinglot in prayer. But I didn't always. I prayed without believing for a longtime first. "

"That seems to me like offering an insult to God, " said Piers. 

"I don't think He views it in that light, " said Crowther, "any more thanHe blames a blind man for feeling his way. The great thing is to doit--to get started. You're wanting a big thing in life. Well, --ask forit! Don't be afraid of asking! It's what you're meant to do. "

He drew a long whiff from his pipe and puffed it slowly forth. 

There fell a deep silence between them. Piers sat in absolute stillness, gazing downwards into the fire with eyes still half-closed. 

Suddenly he jerked back his head. "It's a bit of a farce, what?" he said. "But I'll do it on your recommendation, I'll give it a six months' trial, and see what comes of it. That's a fair test anyhow. Something ought toturn up in another six months. "

He got to his feet with a laugh, and stood in front of Crowther with aspecies of challenge in his eyes. He looked as if he expected rebuke, andwere prepared to meet it with arrogance. 

But Crowther uttered neither reproach nor admonition. He met the lookwith the utmost kindliness--the most complete understanding. 

"Something will turn up, lad, " he said, with steady conviction. "Butnot--probably--in the way you expect. "

Piers' face showed a momentary surprise. "How on earth do youknow?" he said. 

"I do know, " Crowther made steadfast reply; but he offered no explanationfor his confidence. 

Piers thrust out an impulsive hand. "You may be right and you may not;but you've been a brick to me, old fellow, " he said, a note of deepfeeling in his voice, --"several kinds of a brick, and I'm not likely toforget it. If you ever get into the Church, you'll be known as the parsonwho doesn't preach, and it'll be a reputation to be proud of. "

Crowther's answering grip was the grip of a giant. There was a greattenderness in the far-seeing grey eyes as he made reply. "It would berank presumption on my part to preach to you, lad. You are made ofinfinitely finer stuff than I. "

"Oh, rats!" exclaimed Piers in genuine astonishment. 

But the elder man shook his head with a smile. "No; facts, Piers!" hesaid. "There are greater possibilities in you than I could everattain to. "

"Possibilities for evil then, " said Piers, with a very bitter laugh. 

Crowther looked him straight in the eyes. "And possibilities for good, myson, " he said. "They grow together, thank God. "

PART III

THE OPEN HEAVEN

CHAPTER I

THE VERDICT

"It's much better than learning by heart, " said Jeanie, with her tiredlittle smile. "Somehow, you know, I can't learn by heart--at least notlong things. Father says it is because my brain is deficient. But Mothersays hers is just the same, so I don't mind so much. "

"My dear, it will take you hours to read through all this, " saidAvery, surveying with dismay the task which the Vicar had set hissmall daughter. 

"Yes, " said Jeanie. "I am to devote three hours of every day to it. I hadto promise I would. " She gave a short sigh. "It's very good for me, youknow, " she said. 

"Is it?" said Avery. She smoothed back the brown hair lovingly. "Youmustn't overwork, Jeanie darling, " she said. 

"I can't help it, " said Jeanie quietly. "You see, I promised. "

That she would keep her promise, whatever the cost, was evidently aforegone conclusion; and Avery could say nothing against it. 

She left the child to work therefore, and wandered down herself tothe shore. 

It was June. A soft breeze came over the sea, salt and pure, with thelife-giving quality of the great spaces. She breathed it deeply, thankfully, conscious of returning strength. 

She and Jeanie had arrived only the week before, and she was sure theirvisit was going to do wonders for them both. Her own convalescence hadbeen a protracted one, but she told herself as she walked along the beachtowards the smiling, evening sea that she was already stronger than hercompanion. The old lassitude was evidently very heavy upon Jeanie. Thesmallest exertion seemed to tax her energies to the utmost. She had nevershaken off her cough, and it seemed to wear her out. 

Avery had spoken to Lennox Tudor about her more than once, but he neverdiscussed the subject willingly. He was never summoned to the Vicaragenow, and, when they chanced to meet, the Vicar invariably reserved forhim the iciest greeting that courtesy would permit. Tudor had defeatedhim once on his own ground, and he was not the man to forget it. Sopoor Jeanie's ailments were given none but home treatment to alleviatethem, and it seemed to Avery that her strength had dwindled almostperceptibly of late. 

She pondered the matter as she strolled along the shore, debating withherself if she would indeed take a step that she had been contemplatingfor some time, and, now that Jeanie was in her care, take her up to townand obtain Maxwell Wyndham's opinion with regard to her. It was a projectshe had mentioned to no one, and she hesitated a good deal over puttingit into practice. That Mrs. Lorimer would readily countenance such an actshe well knew, but she was also aware that it would be regarded as apiece of rank presumption by the child's father which might easily bepunished by the final withdrawal of Jeanie from her care. That was acontingency which she hardly desired to risk. Jeanie had become soinfinitely precious to her in those days. 

Unconsciously her feet had turned towards their old haunt. She foundherself halting by the low square rock on which Piers once had sat andcursed the sea-birds in bitterness of spirit. Often as she had visitedthe spot since, she had never done so without the memory of that springmorning flashing unbidden through her brain. It went through her now likea sharp dart of physical pain; the boyish figure, the ardent eyes, theblack hair plastered wet on the wide, patrician brow. Her heartcontracted. She seemed to hear again the eager, wooing words. 

He never wrote to her now. She believed he was in town, probably amusinghimself as he had amused himself at Monte Carlo, passing the time in around of gaieties, careless flirtations, possibly deeper intrigues. Crowther had probably kept him straight through the winter, but she didnot believe that Crowther's influence would be lasting. There was a stingin the very thought of Crowther. She was sure now that he had alwaysknown the bitter secret that Piers had kept from her. It had been thebond between them. Piers had obviously feared betrayal, but Crowther hadnot deemed it his business to betray him. He had suffered the deceptionto continue. She recognized that his position had been a difficult one;but it did not soften her heart towards him. Her heart had grown hardtowards all men of late. She sometimes thought that but for Jeanie itwould have atrophied altogether. There were so few things nowadays thatseemed to touch her. She could not even regret her lost baby. But yet thememory of Piers sitting on that rock at her feet pierced her oddly;Piers, the passionate, the adoring, the hot-blooded; Piers theinvincible; Piers the prince!

She turned from the spot with a wrung feeling of heart-break. Shewished--how she wished--that she had died!

In that moment she realized that she was no longer alone. A man's figure, thick-set and lounging, was sauntering towards her along the sand. Heseemed to move with extreme leisureliness, yet his approach was but amatter of seconds. His hands were in his pockets, his hat rammed downover his eyes. 

There seemed to her to be something vaguely familiar about him, thoughwherein it lay she could not have told. She stood and awaited him withthe certainty that he was coming with the express purpose of joining her. She knew him; she was sure she knew him, though who he was she had notthe faintest idea. 

He reached her, lifted his cap, and the sun glinted on a head of fieryred hair. "I thought I was not mistaken, Lady Evesham, " he said. 

She recognized him with an odd leap of the pulses, and in a moment heldout her hand. "Dr. Wyndham!" she said. "How amazing!"

"Why amazing?" said Wyndham. He held her hand for a second while hisgreen eyes scanned her face. When he dropped it she felt that he had madea full and exhaustive inspection, and she was strangely disconcerted, asif in some fashion he had gained an unfair advantage over her. 

"Amazing that you should be here, " she explained, with a flush ofembarrassment. 

"Oh, not in the least, I assure you, " he said. "I am staying at Brethavenfor a couple of days with my wife's people. It's only ten miles away, youknow. And I bicycled over here on the chance of seeing you. "

"But how did you know I was here?" she asked. 

"From your husband. I told him I was coming in this direction, and hesuggested that I should come over and look you up. " Very casually he madereply, and he could not have been aware of the flood of colour his wordssent to her face, for he continued in the same cool fashion as hestrolled by her side. "I was afraid you might consider it an unpardonableliberty, but he assured me you wouldn't. So--" the green eyes smiled uponher imperturbably--"as I am naturally interested in your welfare, I tookmy courage in both hands and, at the risk of being consideredunprofessional, --I came. "

It was unexpected, but it was disarming. Avery found herself smilingin answer. 

"I am very pleased to see you, " she said. "But your coming just at thistime is rather amazing all the same, for I was thinking of you, wishing Icould see you, only a few minutes ago. "

"What can I do for you?" said Maxwell Wyndham. 

She hesitated a little before the direct question; then as simply as hehad asked she answered, laying the matter before him without reservation. 

He listened in his shrewd, comprehending way, asking one or twoquestions, but making no comments. 

"There need be no difficulty about it, " he said, when she ended. "You saythe child is tractable. Keep her in bed to-morrow, and say a medicalfriend of yours is coming over to see if he can do anything for hercough! Then if you'll ask me to lunch--I'll do the rest. "

He smiled as he ended, and thrust out his hand. 

"I'll be going now. I left my bicycle in the village and hope to find itstill there. Now remember, Lady Evesham, my visit to-morrow is to be of astrictly unprofessional character. You didn't send for me, so I shallassume the privilege of coming as a friend. Is that understood?"

He spoke with smiling assurance, and seeing that he meant to gain hispoint she yielded it. 

Not till he was gone did she come to ponder the errand that had broughthim thither. 

She went back to Jeanie, and found her with aching eyes fixed resolutelyon her book. Yes, she was a little tired, but she would rather go on, thank you. Oh no, she did not mind staying in bed to-morrow to pleaseAvery, and she was sure she would like Avery's doctor though she didn'texpect he would manage to stop the cough. She would have to do her taskthough all the same; dear Avery mustn't mind. You see, she had promised. But she would certainly stay in bed if Avery wished. 

And then came the tired sigh, and then that racking, cruel cough thatseemed to rend her whole frame. No, she would not finish for another houryet. Really she must go on. 

The brown head dropped on to the little bony hands, and Jeanie wasimmersed once more in her task. 

More than once in the night Avery awoke to hear that tearing, breathlesscough in the room next to hers. It was no new thing, but in view of thecoming ordeal it filled her with misgiving. 

When she rose herself in the morning she felt weighed down with anxiousforeboding. 

Yet, when Maxwell Wyndham arrived in his sauntering, informal fashion atabout noon, she was able to meet him with courage. There was somethingelectric about his personality that seemed almost unconsciously to impartstrength to the downhearted. He had drawn her back from the very Door ofDeath, and her confidence in him was absolute. 

They lunched alone together, and talked of many things. More than once, wholly incidentally, he mentioned her husband. She gathered that he didnot know of their bitter estrangement. He talked of the polo-craze, withwhich it seemed Piers was badly bitten, and commented on his splendidhorsemanship. 

"Yes, he is a wonderful athlete, " Avery said. 

She wondered if he deemed her unresponsive, but decided that he set hercoldness down to anxiety; for he finished his luncheon without lingeringand declared himself ready for the business in hand. 

He became in fact strictly business-like from that moment, and throughoutthe examination that followed she had not the faintest notion as to whatwas passing in his mind. To Jeanie he was curtly kind, but to herself hewas as utterly uncommunicative as if he had been a total stranger. 

The examination was a protracted one, and more painful than Avery hadthought possible. It taxed poor Jeanie's powers of endurance to theuttermost, and long before it was finished she was weeping from sheerexhaustion. He was absolutely patient with her, but he insisted uponcarrying the matter through, remaining when it was at last over until shehad somewhat recovered from the ordeal. 

To Avery the suspense was well-nigh unbearable; but she dared not showthe impatience that consumed her. She had a feeling that in some fashionthe great doctor was depending upon her self-control, her strength ofmind; and she was determined that he should not find her wanting. 

Yet, when she at length preceded him downstairs and into the littlesitting-room she wondered if the hammering of her heart reached him, sotremendous were its strokes. They seemed to her to be beating out adeath-knell in her soul. 

"You will tell me the simple truth, I know, " she said, and waited, straining to catch his words above the clamour. 

He answered her instantly with the utmost quietness, the utmost kindness. 

"Lady Evesham, your own heart has already told you the truth. "

She put out a quick hand, and he took it and held it firmly, sustainingly, while he went on. 

"There is nothing whatever to be done. Give her rest, that's all;absolute rest. She looks as if she has been worked beyond her strength. Is that so?"

Avery nodded mutely. 

"It must stop, " he said. "She is in a very precarious state, and anyexertion, mental or physical, is bound to hasten the end--which cannot, in any case, be very far off. "

He released Avery's hand and walked to the window, where he stood gazingout to sea with drawn brows. 

"The disease is of a good many months' standing, " he said. "It has takenvery firm hold. Such a child as that should have been sheltered andcosseted, shielded from every hardship. Even then--very possibly--thiswould have developed. No one can say for certain. "

"Can you advise--nothing?" said Avery in a voice that sounded oddly dulland emotionless even to herself. 

"Nothing, " said Maxwell Wyndham. "No medical science can help in a caselike this. Give her everything she wants, and give her rest! That is allyou can do for her now. "

Avery came and stood beside him. The blow had fallen, but she hadscarcely begun to feel its effects. There was so much to bethought of first. 

"Please be quite open with me!" she said. "Tell me how long you think shewill live!"

He turned slightly and looked at her. "I can tell you what I think, Lady Evesham, " he said. "But, remember, that does not bring the endany nearer. "

"I know, " she said. 

She looked straight back at him with eyes unflinching, and after amoment's thought he spoke. 

"I think that--given every care--she may live through the summer, but Ido not consider it likely. "

Avery's face was very pale, but still she did not flinch. "Will shesuffer?" she asked. 

He raised his brows at the question. "My dear lady, she has sufferedalready far more than you have any idea of. One lung is practically gone, wholly useless. The other is rapidly going the same way. She has probablysuffered for a year or more, first lassitude, then shortness of breath, and pretty often actual pain. Hasn't she complained of these things?"

"She is a child who never complains, " Avery said. "But both her motherand I thought she was wasting. "

"She is mere skin and bone, " he said. "Now--about her people, LadyEvesham; who is going to tell them? You or I?"

She hesitated. "But I could hardly ask you to do that, " she said. 

"You may command me in any way, " he answered. "If I may presume toadvise, I should say that the best course would be for me to go toRodding, see the doctor there, and get him to take me to the Vicarage. "

"Oh, but they mustn't take her from me!" Avery said. "Let her mother comehere! She can't--she mustn't--go back home!"

"Exactly what I was going to say, " he returned, in his quiet practicalfashion. "To take her back there would be madness. But look here, LadyEvesham, you must have a nurse. "

"Oh, not yet!" said Avery. "I am quite strong now. I am used to nursing. I have--no other call upon me. Let me do this!"

"None?" he said. 

His tone re-called her. She coloured burningly. "My husband--wouldunderstand, " she said, with difficulty. 

He passed the matter by. "Will you promise to send me a message if youfind night-nursing a necessity?"

She hesitated. 

He frowned. "Lady Evesham, you must promise me this in fairness to thechild as well as to yourself. Also, you will give me your word that youwill never under any circumstances sleep with her. "

She saw that he would have his way, and she yielded both points ratherthan fight a battle which instinct warned her she could not win. 

"Then I will be going, " he said. 

He turned back into the room, and again she was aware of his green eyessurveying her closely, critically. But he made no reference whatever toher health, and inwardly she blessed him for his forbearance. 

She did not know that as he rode away, he grimly remarked to himself:"The best tonics generally taste the bitterest, and she'll drink this oneto the dregs, poor girl! But it'll help her in the end. "

CHAPTER II

THE TIDE COMES BACK

"Give her everything she wants!" How often in the days that followed werethose words in Avery's mind! She strove to fulfil them to the uttermost, but Jeanie seemed to want so little. The only trouble in her existencejust then was her holiday-task, and that she steadily refused torelinquish unless her father gave her leave. 

A few days after Maxwell Wyndham's departure there came an agonizedletter from Mrs. Lorimer. Olive had just developed scarlet fever, and asthey could not afford a nurse she was nursing her herself. She entreatedAvery to send her daily news of Jeanie and to telegraph at once shouldshe become worse. She added in a pathetic postscript that her husbandfound it difficult to believe that Jeanie could be as ill as the greatdoctor had represented, and she feared he was a little vexed that MaxwellWyndham's opinion had been obtained. 

It was exactly what Avery had expected of him. She wrote a soothingletter to Mrs. Lorimer, promising to keep her informed of Jeanie'scondition, promising to lavish every care upon the child, and beggingher to persuade Mr. Lorimer to remit the task which had become soheavy a burden. 

The reply to this did not come at once, and Avery had repeated therequest twice very urgently and was contemplating addressing a protestto the Reverend Stephen in person when another agitated epistle arrivedfrom Mrs. Lorimer. Her husband had decided to run down to them for anight and judge of Jeanie's state for himself. 

Avery received the news with dismay which, however, she was careful toconceal. Jeanie heard of the impending visit with as much perturbation asher tranquil nature would allow, and during the day that intervenedbefore his arrival gave herself more sedulously than ever to her task. She had an unhappy premonition that he would desire to examine her uponwhat she had read, and she was guiltily aware that her memory had notretained very much of it. 

So for the whole of one day she strove to study, till she was socompletely tired out that Avery actually took the book from her at lastand declared that she should not worry herself any more about it. Jeanieyielded submissively, but a wakeful night followed, and in the morningshe looked so wan that Avery wanted to keep her in bed. 

On this point, however, Jeanie was less docile than usual. "He will thinkI am shamming, " she protested. "He never likes us to lie in bed unless weare really ill. "

So, since she was evidently anxious to get up, Avery permitted it, thoughshe marked her obvious languor with a sinking heart. 

The Vicar arrived at about noon, and Avery saw at a glance that he was inno kindly mood. 

"Dear me, what is all this fuss?" he said to Jeanie. "You look to meconsiderably rosier than I have seen you for a long time. "

Jeanie was indeed flushed with nervous excitement, and Avery thought shehad never seen her eyes so unnaturally bright. She endured her father'shand under her chin with evident discomfort, and the Vicar's face wassomewhat severe when he finally released her. 

"I am afraid you are getting a little fanciful, my child, " he saidgravely. "I know that our kind friend, Lady Evesham--" his eyes twinkledironically and seemed to slip inwards--"has always been inclined toindulge your whims. Now how do you occupy your time?"

"I read, " faltered Jeanie. 

"And sew, I presume, " said the Vicar, who prided himself upon bringing uphis daughter to be useful. 

"A little, " said Jeanie. 

He opened his eyes upon her again with that suggestion of severity in hisregard which Jeanie so plainly dreaded. "But you have done none since youhave been here? Jeanie, my child, I detect in you the seeds of idleness. If your time were more fully occupied, you would find your general healthwould considerably improve. Now, do you rise early and go for a bathebefore breakfast?"

"No, " said Jeanie, with a little shiver. 

He shook his head at her. "Then let us institute the habit at once! Icannot have you becoming slack just because you are away from home. Ifthis indolence continue, I shall be compelled to have you back under myown eye. I clearly see that the self-indulgent life you lead here ishaving disastrous results. You will bathe with me to-morrow atseven-thirty, after which we will have half an hour of physical exercise. Then after a wholesome breakfast you will feel renewed and ready for theday's work. "

Avery, when this programme was laid before her, looked at him inincredulous amazement. 

"But surely Dr. Wyndham explained to you the serious condition she isin!" she exclaimed. 

Mr. Lorimer smiled his own superior smile. "He explained his point ofview most thoroughly, my dear Lady Evesham. " He always pronounced hername and title with satirical emphasis. "But that--very curious as it mayappear to you--does not prevent my holding a very strong opinion of myown. And it chances to be in direct opposition to that expressed by Dr. Maxwell Wyndham. I know my own child, --her faults and her tendencies. Shehas been allowed to become extremely lax with regard to her daily duties, and this laxness is in my opinion the root of the evil. I shall thereforetake my own measures to correct it, and if they are in any way resistedor neglected I shall at once remove the child from your care. I trust Ihave made myself quite explicit. "

He had. But Avery's indignation could not be contained. 

"You will kill her if you persist!" she said. "Even as it is--even as itis--her days are numbered. "

"The days of all of us are numbered, " said the Reverend Stephen. "And itbehoves us to make the very utmost of each one of them. I cannot allowmy child's character to be ruined on account of a physical weaknesswhich a little judicious discipline will speedily overcome. The spiritmust triumph over the flesh, Lady Evesham. A hard rule for worldlings, Igrant you, but one which must be observed by all who would enter theKingdom of Heaven. "

Argument was futile. Avery realized it at the outset. He would have hisway, whatever the cost, and no warning or entreaty would move him. Forthe rest of that day she had to stand by in impotent anguish, and watchJeanie's martyrdom. During the afternoon he sat alone with her, conducting the intellectual examination which Jeanie had so dreaded, reprimanding, criticizing, scoffing at her ignorance. In the evening hetook her for what he called a stroll upon which Avery was not allowed toaccompany them. Mr. Lorimer playfully remarking that he wished to givehis young daughter the benefit of his individual attention during theperiod of his brief sojourn with them. 

They returned from their expedition at eight. Avery was walking to andfro by the gate in a ferment of anxiety. They came by the cliff-road, and she went eagerly to meet them. 

Jeanie was hanging on her father's arm with a face of deathly whiteness, and looked on the verge of collapse. 

The Reverend Stephen was serenely satisfied with himself, laughed gentlyat his child's dragging progress, and assured Avery that a littlewholesome fatigue was a good thing at the end of the day. 

Jeanie said nothing. She seemed to be speechless with exhaustion, almostincapable of standing alone. 

Mr. Lorimer recommended a cold bath, a brisk rub-down, and supper. 

"After which, " he said impressively, "I shall hope to conduct a fewprayers before we retire to rest. "

"That will be impossible, I am afraid, " Avery rejoined. "Jeanie isovertired and must go at once to bed. "

She spoke with quiet decision, but inwardly she was quivering with fierceanger. She longed passionately to have the child to herself, to comfortand care for her and ease away the troubles of the day. 

But Mr. Lorimer at once asserted his authority. "Jeanie will certainlyjoin us at supper, " he said. "Run along, my child, and prepare for themeal at once!"

Jeanie went up the stairs like an old woman, stumbling at every step. 

Avery followed her, chafing but impotent. 

At the top of the stairs Jeanie began to cough. She turned into her ownroom with blind, staggering movements and sank down beside the bed. 

The coughing was spasmodic and convulsive. It shook her whole frame. Inthe end there came a dreadful tearing sound, and she caught herhandkerchief to her mouth. 

Avery knelt beside her, supporting her. She saw the white linen turnsuddenly scarlet, and she called sharply to Mr. Lorimer to come to them. 

He came, and between them they got her on to the bed. 

"This is most unfortunate, " said Mr. Lorimer. "Pray how did it happen?"

And then Avery's pent fury blazed suddenly forth upon him. "It is yourdoing!" she said. "You--and you alone--are responsible for this!"

He looked at her malignantly. "Pshaw, my dear Lady Evesham! You arehysterical!" he said. 

Avery was bending over the bed. "Go!" she said, without looking up. "Goquickly, and fetch a doctor!"

And, very curiously, Mr. Lorimer obeyed her. 

CHAPTER III

THE GAME

Jeanie rallied. As though to comfort Avery's distress, she came back fora little space; but no one--not even her father--could doubt any longerthat the poor little mortal life had nearly run out. 

"My intervention has come too late, alas!" said Mr. Lorimer. 

Which remark was received by Avery in bitter silence. 

She had no further fear of being deprived of the child. It was quite outof the question to think of moving her, and she knew that Jeanie was hersfor as long as the frail cord of her earthly existence lasted. 

She was thankful that the advent of a nurse made it impossible for theVicar to remain, and she parted from him with almost open relief. 

"We must bow to the Supreme Will, " he said, with his heavy sigh. 

And again Avery was silent. 

"I fear you are rebellious, " he said with severity. 

"Good-bye!" said Avery. 

Her heart bled more for Mrs. Lorimer than for herself just then. She knewby instinct that she would not be allowed to come to her child. 

The nurse was middle-aged and kindly, and both she and Jeanie liked herfrom the outset. She took the night duty, and the day was Avery's, adivision that pleased them all. 

Mr. Lorimer had demurred about having a nurse at all, but Avery hadswept the objection aside. Jeanie was in her care, and she would provideall she needed. Mr. Lorimer had conceded the point as gracefully aspossible, for it seemed that for once his will could not be regarded asparamount. Of course, as he openly reflected, Lady Evesham was very muchin their debt, and it was but natural that she should welcome thisopportunity to repay somewhat of their past kindness to her. 

So, for the first time in her life, little Jeanie was surrounded with allthat she could desire; and very slowly, like a broken flower coaxed backto life, she revived again. 

It could scarcely be regarded in the light of an improvement. It wasjust a fluctuation that deceived neither Avery nor the nurse; but to theformer those days were infinitely precious. She clung to them hour byhour, refusing to look ahead to the desolation that was surely coming, cherishing her darling with a passion of devotion that excluded allother griefs. 

The long summer days slipped away. June passed like a dream. Jeanie layin the tiny garden with her face to the sea, gazing forth with eyes thatwere often heavy and wistful but always ready to smile upon Avery. Theholiday-task was put away, not because Mr. Lorimer had remitted it, butbecause Avery--with rare despotism--had insisted upon removing it fromher patient's reach. 

"Not till you are better, darling, " she said. "That is your biggest dutynow, just to get back all the strength you can. "

And Jeanie had smiled her wistful, dreamy smile, and submitted. 

Avery sometimes wondered if she knew of the great Change that was drawingso rapidly near. If so, it had no terrors for her; and she thanked Godthat the Vicar was not at hand to terrify the child. The journey fromRodding to Stanbury Cliffs was not an easy one by rail, and parishmatters were fortunately claiming his attention very fully just then. Ashe himself had remarked more than once, he was not the man to permit merepersonal matters to interfere with Duty, and many a weak soul dependedupon his ministrations. 

So Jeanie was left entirely to Avery's motherly care while the goldendays slipped by. 

With July came heat, intense, oppressive, airless; and Jeanie flaggedagain. A copper-coloured mist rose every morning over the sea, blottingout the sky-line, veiling the passing ships. Strange voices calledthrough the fog, sirens hooted to one another persistently. 

"They are like people who have lost each other, " Jeanie said once, andthe simile haunted Avery's imagination. 

And then one sunny day a pleasure-steamer passed quite near the shorewith a band on board. They were playing _The Little Grey Home in theWest_, and very oddly Jeanie's eyes filled with sudden tears. 

Avery did not take any notice for a few moments, but as the strainsdied-away over the glassy water, she leaned towards the child. 

"My darling, what is it?" she whispered tenderly. 

Jeanie's hand found its way into hers. "Oh, don't you ever want Piers?"she murmured wistfully. "I do!"

It was the first time she had spoken his name to Avery since they hadleft him alone nearly a year before, and almost as soon as she haduttered it she made swift apology. 

"Please forgive me, dear Avery! It just slipped out. "

"My dear!" Avery said, and kissed her. 

There fell a long silence between them. Avery's eyes were on the thickheat-haze that obscured the sky-line. In her brain there sounded againthose words that Maxwell Wyndham had spoken so short a time before. "Giveher everything she wants! It's all you can do for her now. "

But behind those words was something that shrank and quivered like afrightened child. Could she give her this one thing? Could she?Could she?

It would mean the tearing open of a wound that was scarcely closed. Itwould mean a calling to life of a bitterness that was hardly past. Itwould mean--it would mean--

"Avery darling!" Softly Jeanie's voice broke through her agitatedthoughts. 

Avery turned and looked at her, --the frail, sweet face with its shiningeyes of love. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you, " whispered Jeanie. "Don't think any moreabout it!"

"Do you want him so dreadfully?" Avery said. 

Jeanie's eyes were full of tears again. She tried to answer, but her lipsquivered. She turned her face aside, and was silent. 

The day waxed hotter, became almost insupportable. In the afternoonJeanie was attacked by breathlessness and coughing, both painful towitness. She could find no rest or comfort, and Avery was in momentarydread of a return of the hemorrhage. 

It did not return, but when evening came at length and with it theblessed coolness of approaching night, Jeanie was so exhausted as to beunable to speak above a whisper. She lay white and still, scarcelyconscious, only her difficult breathing testifying to the fluttering lifethat had ebbed so low. 

The nurse's face was very grave as she came on duty, but after aninterval of steady watching, during which the wind blew in withrising freshness from the sea, she turned to Avery, saying, "I thinkshe will revive. "

Avery nodded and slipped away. 

There was not much time left. She ran all the way to the post-office andscribbled a message there with trembling fingers. 

"Jeanie wants you. Will you come? Avery. "

She sent the message to Rodding Abbey. She knew they would forward itfrom there. 

Passing out again into the road, a sudden sense of sickness swept overher. What had she done? What uncontrolled force would that telegramunfetter? Would he come to her like a whirlwind and sweep her back intohis own tempestuous life? Would he break her will once more to his? Wouldhe drag her once more through the hell of his passion, kindle afresh forher the flame that had consumed her happiness?

She dared not face the possibility. She felt as if an iron hand hadclosed upon her, drawing her surely, irresistibly, back towards thosegates of brass through which she had escaped into the desert. That fierytorture would be infinitely harder to bear now, and she knew that thefieriest point of it all would be the desperate, aching longing to knowagain the love that had shone and burnt itself out in the blast-furnaceof his sin. He had loved her once; she was sure he had loved her. Butthat love had died with his boyhood, and it could never rise again. Hehad trodden it underfoot and her own throbbing heart with it. He haddestroyed that which she had always believed to be indestructible. 

She never wanted to see him again. She would have given all she had tohave avoided the meeting. Her whole being recoiled from the thought ofit. And yet--and yet--she saw again the black head laid against her knee, and heard the low, half-rueful words: "Oh, my dear, there is no otherwoman but you in all the world!"

The vision went with her all through the night. She could not escape it. 

In the morning she rose with a sense of being haunted, and a terribleweariness that hung upon her like a chain. 

The day was cooler. Jeanie was better. She had had a nice sleep, thenurse said. But there could be no question of allowing her to leave herbed that day. 

"You are looking so tired, " the nurse said, in her kind way to Avery. "Iam not wanting to go off duty till this afternoon. So won't you go andsit down somewhere on the rocks? Please do!"

She was so anxious to gain her point that Avery yielded. She felt toofeverishly restless to be a suitable companion for Jeanie just then. Shewent down to her favourite corner to watch the tide come in. But shecould not be still. She paced the shore like a caged creature seeking away of escape, dreading each turn lest it should bring her face to facewith the man she had summoned. 

The tide came in and drove her up the beach. She went back notunwillingly, for the suspense had become insupportable. 

Had he come? But surely not! She was convinced he would have followed herto the shore if he had. 

She entered the tiny hall. It was square, and served them as asitting-room. Coming in from the glare without, she was momentarilydazzled. And then all suddenly her eyes lighted upon an unaccustomedobject, and her heart ceased to beat. A man's tweed cap lay carelesslytossed upon the back of a chair!

She stood quite still, feeling her senses reel, knowing herself to be onthe verge of fainting, and clinging with all her strength to hertottering self-control. 

Gradually she recovered, felt her heart begin to beat again and thedeadly faintness pass. There was a telegram on the table. She took it up, found it addressed to herself, opened it with fumbling fingers. 

"Tell Jeanie I am coming to-day. Piers. "

It had arrived an hour before, and she was conscious of a vague sense ofthankfulness that she had been spared that hour of awful certainty. 

A door opened at the top of the stairs. A voice spoke. "I'll come back, my queen. But I've got to pay my respects, you know, to the mistress ofthe establishment, or she'll be cross. Do you remember the Averysymphony? We'll have it presently. "

A light step followed the voice. Already he was on the stairs. He camebounding down to her like an eager boy. For one wild moment she thoughthe was going to throw his arms about her. But he stopped himself beforehe reached her. 

"I say, how ill you look!" he said. 

That was all the greeting he uttered, and in the same moment she saw thatthe black hair above his forehead was powdered with white. It sent such ashock through her as no word or action of his could have caused. 

She stood for a moment gazing at him in stiff inaction. Then, stillstiffly, she held out her hand. But she could not utter a word. She feltas if she were going to burst into tears. 

He took the hand. His dark eyes interrogated her, but they told hernothing. "It's all right, " he said rapidly. "I'm Jeanie's visitor. Ishan't forget it. It was decent of you to send. I say, you--you are notreally ill, what?"

No, she was not ill. She heard herself telling him so in a voice she didnot know. And all the while she felt as if her heart were bleeding, bleeding to death. 

He let her hand go, and straightened himself with the old free arroganceof movement. "May I have something to eat?" he said. "Your message onlygot to me this morning. I was at breakfast, and I had to leave it tocatch the train. So I've had practically nothing. "

That moved her to activity. She led the way into the little parlourwhere luncheon had been laid. He sat down at the table, and she waitedupon him, almost in silence, yet no longer with embarrassment. 

"Aren't you going to join me?" he said. 

She sat down also, and took a minute helping of cold chicken. 

"I say, you're not going to eat all that!" ejaculated Piers. 

She had to laugh a little, though still with that horrified sense oftragedy at her heart. 

He laughed too his careless boyish laugh, and in a moment all theelectricity of the past few moments had gone out of the atmosphere. Heleaned forward unexpectedly and transferred a wing of chicken from hisplate to hers. 

"Look here, Avery! You must eat. It's absurd. So fire away like asensible woman!"

There was no tenderness in his tone, but, oddly, she thrilled to itsimperiousness, conscious of the old magnetism compelling her. She beganto eat in silence. 

Piers ate too in his usual quick fashion, glancing at her once or twicebut making no further comment. 

"Tell me about Jeanie!" he said, finally. "What has brought her to this?Can't we do anything--take her to Switzerland or somewhere?"

Avery shook her head. "Can't you see?" she said, in a low voice. 

He frowned upon her abruptly. "I see lots, " he said enigmatically. "It'squite hopeless, what? Wyndham told me as much. But--I don't believe inhopeless things. "

Avery looked at him, mystified by his tone. "She is dying, " she said. 

"I don't believe in death either, " said Piers, in the tone of one whochallenged the world. "And now look here, Avery! Let's make the best ofthings for the kiddie's sake! She's had a rotten time all her days. Let'sgive her a decent send-off, what? Let's give her the time of her lifebefore she goes!"

He got up suddenly from his chair and went to the open window. 

Avery turned her head to watch him, but for some reason she couldnot speak. 

He went on vehemently, his face turned from her. "In Heaven's name don'tlet's be sorry! It's such a big thing to go out happy. Let's play thegame! I know you can; you were always plucky. Let's give her everythingshe wants and some over! What, Avery, what? I'm not asking for myself. "

She did not know exactly what he was asking, but she did not dare to tellhim so. She sat quite silent, feeling her heart quicken, strivingdesperately to be calm. 

He flung round suddenly, and came to her. "Will you do it?" he said. 

She raised her eyes to his. She was white to the lips. 

He made one of his quick, half-foreign gestures. "Don't!" he saidharshly. "You make me feel such a brute. Can't you trust me--can't youpretend to trust me--for Jeanie's sake?" His hand closed fiercely on theback of her chair. He bent towards her. "It's only a hollow bargain. You'll hate it of course. Do you suppose I shall enjoy it any better? Doyou suppose I would ask it of you for any reason but this?"

Something in his face or voice pierced her. She felt again that dreadfulpain at her heart, as if the blood were draining from it with every beat. 

"I don't know what to say to you, Piers, " she said at last. 

He bit his lip in sheer impatience, but the next moment he controlledhimself. "I'm asking a difficult thing of you, " he said, forcing hisvoice to a quiet level. "It isn't particularly easy for me either;perhaps in a sense, it's even harder. But you must have known when yousent for me that something of the kind was inevitable. What you didn'tknow--possibly--was that Jeanie is grieving badly over our estrangement. She wants to draw us together again. Will you suffer it? Will you playthe game with me? It won't be for long. "

His eyes looked straight into hers, but they held only a great darknessin which no flicker of light burned. Avery felt as if the gulf betweenthem had widened to a measureless abyss. Once she could have read himlike an open book; but now she had not the vaguest clue to his feelingsor his motives. He had as it were withdrawn beyond her ken. 

"Is it to be only make-believe?" she asked at last. 

"Just that, " he said, but she thought his voice rang hard as he said it. 

An odd little tremor went through her. She put her hand up to her throat. "Piers, I don't know--I am afraid--" She broke off in agitation. 

He leaned towards her. "Don't be afraid!" he said. "There isnothing so damning as fear. Shall we go up to her now? I promised Iwouldn't be long. "

She rose. He was still standing close to her, so close that she felt thewarmth of his body, heard the sharp indrawing of his breath. 

For one sick second she thought he would snatch her to him; but thesecond passed and he had not moved. 

"Shall we go?" he said again. "And I say, can you put me up? I don't carewhere I sleep. Any sort of shakedown will do. That sofa--" he glancedtowards the one by the window upon which Jeanie had been wont to lie. 

"If you like, " Avery said. 

She felt that the power to refuse him had left her. He would do as hethought fit. 

They went upstairs together, and she saw Jeanie's face light up as theyentered. Piers was behind. Coming forward, he slipped a confident handthrough Avery's arm. She felt his fingers close upon her warningly, checking her slight start; and she knew with an odd mixture of relief anddismay that this was the beginning of the game. She forced herself tosmile in answer, and she knew that she succeeded; but it was one of thegreatest efforts of her life. 

CHAPTER IV

THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN

For a week after Piers' arrival, Jeanie was better, so much better thatshe was able to be carried downstairs and into the garden where she lovedto lie. There was a piano in the sitting-room, and Piers would sit at itby the hour together, playing anything she desired. She loved his music, would listen entranced for any length of time while he led her through aworld of delight that she had never explored before. It soothed herrestlessness, comforted her in weariness, made her forget her pain. Andthen the summer weather broke. There came a spell of rainy days that madethe garden impossible, and immediately Jeanie's strength began to wane. It went from her very gradually. She suffered but little, save when herbreathing or her cough troubled her. But it was evident to them all thather little craft was putting out to sea at last. 

Piers went steadfastly on with the _rôle_ he had assigned to himself. Henever by word or look reminded Avery of the compact between them. Hemerely took her support for granted, and--probably in consequence ofthis--it never failed him. 

The nurse declared him to be invaluable. He always had a salutary effectupon her patient. For even more than at the sight of Avery did Jeaniebrighten at his coming, and she was always happy alone with him. It evenoccurred to Avery sometimes that her presence was scarcely needed, socompletely were they at one in understanding and sympathy. 

One evening, entering the room unexpectedly, she found Piers on his kneesbeside the bed. He rose instantly and made way for her in a fashion shecould not ignore; but, though Jeanie greeted her with evident pleasure, it was obvious that for the moment she was not needed, and an odd littlepang went through her with the knowledge. 

Piers left the room almost immediately, and in a few moments they heardhim at the piano downstairs. 

"May I have the door open?" whispered Jeanie. 

Avery opened it, and drawing up a chair sat down with her work atthe bedside. 

And then, slowly rolling forth, there came that wonderful music withwhich he had thrilled her soul at the very beginning of his courtship. 

Wordless, magnificent, the great anthem swelled through the falling dusk, and like a vision the unutterable arose and possessed her soul. Her eyesbegan to behold the Land that is very far off. 

And then, throbbing through the wonder of that vision, she heard thecoming of the vast procession. It was like a dream, and yet it was whollyreal. As yet lost in distance, veiled in mystery, she heard the tread ofthe coming host. 

Her hands were fast gripped together; she forgot all beside. It was as ifthe eyes of her soul had been opened, and she looked upon the Infinite. Avoice at her side began to speak, or was it the voice of her own heart?It was only a whisper, but every word of it pierced her consciousness. She listened with parted lips. 

"I saw Heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and He that sat upon himwas called Faithful and True ... His Eyes were as a flame of fire and onHis Head were many crowns.... And He was clothed with a vesture dipped inblood.... And the armies which were in Heaven followed Him upon whitehorses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean.... And He treadeth thewine-press.... He treadeth the wine-press.... "

The voice paused. Avery was listening with bated breath for more. But itdid not come at once. Only the Veil began to lift, so that she saw theOpening Gates and the Glory behind them. 

Then, and not till then, the dream-voice spoke again. "Surely--surely Hehath borne our griefs, and carried--our sorrows.... And the Lord hathlaid on Him--the iniquity of us all. " The music crashed intowonder-chords such as Avery had never heard before, swelled to a climaxthat reached the Divine, held her quivering as it were upon wings in aspace that was more transcendent than the highest mountain-top;--thensoftly, strangely, died.... 

"That is Heaven, " whispered the voice by her side. "Oh, Avery, won't itbe nice when we are all there together?"

But Avery sat as one in a trance, rapt and still. She felt as if thespirit had been charmed out of her body, and she did not want to return. 

A little thin hand slid into hers and clasped it close, recalling her. "Wasn't it beautiful?" said Jeanie. "He said he would make me see theKingdom of Heaven. You saw it too, dear Avery, didn't you?"

Yes, Avery had seen it too. She still felt as if the earth were very farbelow them both. 

Jeanie's voice had grown husky, but she still spoke in a tremulouswhisper. "Did you see the Open Gates, dear Avery? He says they are nevershut. And anyone who can reach them will be let in, --it doesn't matterwho. Do you know, I think Piers is different from what he used to be? Ithink he is learning to love God. "

Absolutely simple words! Why did they send such a rush offeeling--tumultuous, indescribable feeling--through Avery? Was this theexplanation? Was this how it came to pass that he treated her with thataloof reverence day by day? Was he indeed learning the supreme lesson toworship God with love?

She sat for a while longer with Jeanie, till, finding her drowsy, sheslipped downstairs. 

Piers was sitting in the hall, deep in a newspaper. He rose at hercoming with an abruptness suggestive of surprise, and stood waiting forher to speak. 

But curiously the only words that she could utter were of a trivialnature. She had come to him indeed, drawn by a power irresistible, butthe moment she found herself actually in his presence she felttongue-tied, helpless. 

"Don't you want a light?" she said nervously. "I am sure you can'tsee to read. "

He stood silent for a moment, and the old tormenting doubt began to risewithin her. Would he think she desired to make an overture? Would he takefor granted that because his magnetism had drawn her he could do with heras he would?

And then very quietly he spoke, and she experienced an odd revulsion offeeling that was almost disappointment. 

"Have you been reading the papers lately?"

She had not. Jeanie occupied all her waking thoughts. 

He glanced down at the sheet he held. "There is going to be a bust-up onthe Continent, " he said, and there was that in his tone--a grimelation--which puzzled her at the moment. "The mightiest bust-up theworld has ever known. We're in for it, Avery; in for the very deuce of arow. " His voice vibrated suddenly. He stopped as though to check someheadlong force that threatened to carry him away. 

Avery stood still, feeling a sick horror of impending disaster at herheart. "What can you mean?" she said. 

He leaned his hands upon the table facing her, and she saw in his eyesthe primitive, savage joy of battle. "I mean war, " he said. "Oh, it'shorrible; yes, of course it's horrible. But it'll bring us to our senses. It'll make men of us yet. "

She shrank from his look. "Piers! Not--not a European war!"

He straightened himself slowly. "Yes, " he said. "It will be that. But there's nothing to be scared about. It'll be the salvation ofthe Empire. "

"Piers!" she gasped again through white lips. "But modern warfare! Modernweapons! It's Germany of course?"

"Yes, Germany. " He stretched up his arms with a wide gesture and let themfall. "Germany who is going to cut out all the rot of party politics andbind us together as one man! Germany who is going to avert civil war andteach us to love our neighbours! Nothing short of this would have savedus. We've been a mere horde of chattering monkeys lately. Now--all thanksto Germany!--we're going to be men!"

"Or murderers!" said Avery. 

The word broke from her involuntarily, she scarcely knew that she haduttered it until she saw his face. Then in a flash she saw what she haddone, for he had the sudden tragic look of a man who has received hisdeath-wound. 

He made her a curious stiff bow as if he bent himself with difficulty. His face at that moment was whiter than hers, but his eyes glowed redwith a deep anger. 

"I shall remember that, " he said, "when I go to fight for my country. "

With the words he turned to the door. But she cried after him, dismayed, incoherent. 

"Oh Piers, you know--you know--I didn't mean that!"

He did not pause or look back. "Nevertheless you said it, " he rejoinedin a tone that made her feel as if he had flung an icy shower of water inher face; and the next moment she heard his quick tread on the gardenpath and realized that he was gone. 

It was useless to attempt to follow him. Her knees were trembling underher. Moreover, she knew that she must return to Jeanie. White-lipped, quivering, she moved to the stairs. 

He had utterly misunderstood her; she had but voiced the horrifiedthought that must have risen in the minds of thousands when first broughtface to face with that world-wide tragedy. But he had read a personalmeaning into her words. He had deemed her deliberately cruel, ungenerous, bitter. That he could thus misunderstand her set her heart bleedingafresh. Oh, they were better apart! How was it possible that there couldever be any confidence, any intimacy, between them again?

Tears, scalding, blinding tears ran suddenly down her face. She bowed herhead in her hands, leaning upon the banisters.... 

A voice called to her from above, and she started. What was she doing, weeping here in selfish misery, when Jeanie--Swiftly she commandedherself and mounted the stairs. The nurse met her at the top. 

"The little one isn't so well, " she said. "I thought she was asleep, butI am afraid she is unconscious. "

"Oh, nurse, and I left her!"

There was a sound of such heart-break in Avery's voice that the nurse'sgrave face softened in sympathy. 

"My dear, you couldn't have done anything, " she said. "It is just theweakness before the end, and we can do nothing to avert it. What abouther mother? Can she come?"

Avery shook her head in despair. "Not for a week. "

"Ah!" the nurse said; and that was all. But Avery knew in that momentthat only a few hours more remained ere little Jeanie Lorimer passedthrough the Open Gates. 

She would not go to bed that night though the child lay whollyunconscious of her. She knew that she could not sleep. 

She did not see Piers again till late. The nurse slipped down to tell himof Jeanie's condition, and he came up, white and sternly composed, andstood for many minutes watching the slender, quick-breathing figure thatlay propped among pillows, close to the open window. 

Avery could not look at his face during those minutes; she dared not. Butwhen he turned away at length he bent and spoke to her. 

"Are you going to stay here?"

"Yes, " she whispered. 

He made no attempt to dissuade her. All he said was, "May I wait in yourroom? I shall be within call there. "

"Of course, " she answered. 

"And you will call me if there is any change?"

"Of course, " she said again. 

He nodded briefly and left her. 

Then began the long, long night-watch. It was raining, and the night wasvery dark. The slow, deep roar of the sea rose solemnly and filled thequiet room. The tide was coming in. They could hear the water shoalingalong the beach. 

How often Avery had listened to it and loved the sound! To-night itfilled her soul with awe, as the Voice of Many Waters. 

Slowly the night wore on, and ever that sound increased in volume, swelling, intensifying, like the coming of a mighty host as yet far off. The rain pattered awhile and ceased. The sea-breeze blew in, salt andpure. It stirred the brown tendrils of hair on Jeanie's forehead, andeddied softly through the room. 

The nurse sat working beside a hooded lamp that threw her grave, strongface into high relief, but only accentuated the shadows in the rest ofthe room. Avery sat close to the bed, not praying, scarcely thinking, waiting only for the opening of the Gates. And in that hour shelonged, --oh, how passionately!--that when they opened she also might bepermitted to pass through. 

It was in the darkest hour of the night that the tide began to turn. Shelooked almost instinctively for a change but none came. Jeanie stirrednot, save when the nurse stooped over her to give her nourishment, andeach time she took less and less. 

The tide receded. The night began to pass. There came a faint greynessbefore the window. The breeze freshened. 

And very suddenly the breathing to which Avery had listened all the nightpaused, ceased for a second or two, then broke into the sharp sigh of oneawaking from sleep. 

She rose quickly, and the nurse looked up. Jeanie's eyes dark, unearthly, unafraid, were opened wide. 

She gazed at Avery for a moment as if slightly puzzled. Then, in a faintwhisper: "Has Piers said good-night?" she asked. 

"No, darling. But he is waiting to. I will call him, " Avery said. 

"Quickly!" whispered the nurse, as she passed her. 

Swiftly, noiselessly, Avery went to her own room. But some premonition ofher coming must have reached him; for he met her on the threshold. 

His eyes questioned hers for a moment, and then together they turned backto Jeanie's room. No words passed between them. None were needed. 

Jeanie's face was turned towards the door. Her eyes looked beyond Averyand smiled a welcome to Piers. He came to her, knelt beside her. 

"Dear Sir Galahad!" she said. 

He shook his head. "No, Jeanie, no!"

She was panting. He slipped his arm under the pillow to support her. Sheturned her face to his. 

"Oh, Piers, " she breathed, "I do--so--want you--to be happy. "

"I am happy, sweetheart, " he said. 

But Jeanie's vision was stronger in that moment than it had ever beenbefore, and she was not deceived. "You are not happy, dear Piers, " shesaid. "Avery is not happy either. "

Piers turned slightly. "Come here, Avery!" he said. 

The old imperious note was in his voice, yet with a difference. Hestretched his free hand up to her, drawing her down to his side, and asshe knelt also he passed his arm about her, pressing her to him. 

Jeanie's eyes were upon them both, dying eyes that shone with a mysticglory. They saw the steadfast resolution in Piers' face as he held hiswife against his heart. They saw the quivering hesitation with whichshe yielded. 

"You're not happy--yet, " she whispered. "But you will be happy. "

Thereafter she seemed to slip away from them for a space, losing touch asit were, yet still not beyond their reach. Once or twice she seemed to betrying to pray, but they could not catch her words. 

The dawn-light grew stronger before the window. The sound of the waveshad sunk to a low murmuring. From where she knelt Avery could see thefar, dim line of sea. Piers' arm was still about her. She felt as thoughthey two were kneeling apart before an Altar invisible, waiting to receivea blessing. 

Jeanie's breathing was growing less hurried. She seemed already beyondall earthly suffering. Yet her eyes also watched that far dim sky-line asthough they waited for a sign. 

Slowly the light deepened, the shadows began to lift. Piers' eyes werefixed unswervingly upon the child's quiet face. The light of the comingDawn was reflected there. The great Change was very near at hand. 

Far away to the left there grew and spread a wondrous brightness. The skyseemed to recede, turned from grey to misty blue. A veil of cloud thathad hidden the stars all through the night dissolved softly into shredsof gold, and across the sea with a diamond splendour there shot the firstgreat ray of sunlight. 

It was then that Jeanie seemed to awake, to rise as it were from thedepths of reverie. Her eyes widened, grew intense; then suddenlythey smiled. 

She sought to raise herself, and never knew that it was by Piers'strength alone that she was lifted. She gave a gasp that was almost acry, but it was gladness not pain that it expressed. 

For a few panting moments she gazed out as one rapt in delight, gazingfrom a mountain-peak upon a wider view than earthly eyes could compass. 

Then eagerly she turned to Piers. "I saw Heaven opened ... " she said, and in her low voice there throbbed a rapture that could not beuttered in words. 

She would have said more, but something stopped her. She made agesture as though she would clasp him round the neck, failed, and sankdown in his arms. 

He held her closely to him, and so holding her, felt the last quiveringbreath slip from the little tired body.... 

CHAPTER V

THE DESERT ROAD

"That is just where you make a mistake, my good Crowther. You're anawfully shrewd chap in some ways, but you understand women just about asthoroughly as I understand theology. "

Piers clasped his hands behind his head, and regarded his friendaffectionately. 

"Do you think so?" said Crowther a little drily. 

Piers laughed. "Now I've trodden on your pet corn. Bear up, old chap!It'll soon be better. "

Crowther's own face relaxed, but he did not look satisfied. "I'm nothappy about you, my son, " he said. "I think you've missed a bigopportunity. "

"You think wrong, " said Piers, unmoved. "I couldn't possibly have stayedanother hour. I was in a false position. So--poor girl!--was she. Weburied the hatchet for the kiddie's sake, but it wasn't buried very deep. I did my best, and I think she did hers. But--even that last night--wekicked against it. There was no sense in pretending any longer. The gamewas up. So--I came away. "

He uttered the last words nonchalantly; but if Crowther's knowledge ofwomen was limited, he knew his own species very thoroughly, and he wasnot deceived. 

"You didn't see her at all after the little girl died?" he asked. 

"Not at all, " said Piers. "I came away by the first train I couldcatch. "

"And left her to her trouble!" Crowther's wide brow was a little drawn. There was even a hint of sternness in his steady eyes. 

"Just so, " said Piers. "I left her to mourn in peace. "

"Didn't you so much as write a line of explanation?" Crowther's voice wastroubled, but it held the old kindliness, the old human sympathy. 

Piers shook his head, and stared upwards at the ceiling. "Really therewas nothing to explain, " he said. "She knows me--so awfully well. "

"I wonder, " said Crowther. 

The dark eyes flashed him a derisive glance. "Better than you do, dear old man, though, I admit, I've let you into a few of my mostgruesome corners. I couldn't have done it if I hadn't trusted you. You realize that?"

Crowther looked him straight in the face. "That being so, my son, " hesaid, "you needn't be so damned lighthearted for my benefit. "

A gleam of haughty surprise drove the smile out of Piers' eyes. Hestraightened himself sharply. "On my soul, Crowther--" he began; thenstopped and leaned back again in his chair. "Oh, all right. I forgot. Yousay any silly rot you like to me. "

"And now and then the truth also, " said Crowther. 

Piers' eyes fenced with his, albeit a faint smile hovered about thecorners of his mouth. "I really am not such a humbug as you are pleasedto imagine, " he said, after a moment with an oddly boyish touch of pride. "I'm feeling lighthearted, and that's a fact. "

"Then you are about the only man in England today who is, "responded Crowther. 

"That may be, " carelessly Piers made answer. "Nearly everyone is more orless scared. I'm not. It's going to be a mighty struggle--a Titanicstruggle--but we shall come out on top. "

"At a frightful cost, " Crowther said. 

Piers leapt to his feet. "We shan't shirk it on that account. See here, Crowther! I'll tell you something--if you'll swear to keep it dark!"

Crowther looked up at the eager, glowing face and a very tender look cameinto his own. "Well, Piers?" he said. 

Piers caught him suddenly by the shoulders. "Crowther, Crowther, oldchap, congratulate me! I took--the King's shilling--to-day!"

"Ah!" Crowther said. 

He gripped Piers' arms tightly, feeling the vitality of him pulse inevery sinew, every tense nerve. And before his mental sight there rosethe dread vision of war--the insatiable--striding like a devouringmonster over a whole continent. With awful clearness he saw the fieldsof slain... 

His eyes came back to Piers, splendid in the fire of his youth, flushedalready with the grim joy of the coming conflict. He got up slowly, stilllooking into the handsome, olive face with its patrician features andarrogant self-confidence. And a cold hand seemed to close upon his heart. 

"Oh, boy!" he said. 

Piers frowned upon him, still half-laughing. "What? Are we down-hearted?Buck up, man! Congratulate me! I was one of the first. "

But congratulation stuck in Crowther's throat. "I wish this hadcome--twenty years ago!" was all he found to say. 

"Thank Heaven it didn't!" ejaculated Piers. "Why, don't you see it'sthe one thing for me--about the only stroke of real luck I've ever hadin my life?"

"And your wife doesn't know?" said Crowther. 

"She does not. And I won't have her told. Mind that!" Piers' voice wassuddenly determined. "She knows I shan't keep out of it, and that'senough. If she wants me--which she won't--she can get at me throughVictor or one of them. But that won't happen. Don't you worry yourself asto that, my good Crowther! I know jolly well what I'm doing. Don't yousee it's the chance of my life? Do you think I'm going to miss it, what?"

"I think you're going to break her heart, " Crowther said gravely. 

"That's because you don't understand, " Piers made steady reply. "Nothingwill alter so long as I stay. But this war is going to alter everything. We shall none of us come out of it as we went in. When I comeback--things will be different. "

He spoke sombrely. The boyish ardour had gone out of him. Something offatefulness, something of solemn realization, of steadfast fortitude, hadtaken its place. 

"I tell you, Crowther, " he said, "I am not doing this thing withoutweighing the cost. But--I haven't much to lose, and I've all to gain. Even if it doesn't do--what I hope, it'll steady me down, it'll make aman of me--and not--a murderer. "

His voice sank on the last word. He freed himself from Crowther's holdand turned away. 

Once more he opened the window to the roar of London's life; and sostanding, with his back to Crowther, he spoke again jerkily, with obviouseffort. "Do you remember telling me that something would turn up?Well, --it has. I'm waiting to see what will come of it. But--if it's anysatisfaction to you to know it--I've got clear of my own particular hellat last. I haven't got very far, mind, and it's a beastly desert road I'mon. But I know it'll lead somewhere; so I shall stick to it now. "

He paused a moment; then flung round and faced Crowther with a certainair of triumph. 

"Meantime, old chap, don't you worry yourself about either of us! Mywife will go to her friend Mrs. Lorimer till I come home again. Thenpossibly, with any luck, she'll come to me. "

He smiled with the words and came back to the table. "May I have adrink?" he said. 

Crowther poured one out for him in silence. Somehow he could notspeak. There was something about Piers that stirred him too deeply forspeech just then. He lifted his own glass with no more than a gestureof goodwill. 

"I say, don't be so awfully jolly about it!" laughed Piers. "I tell youit's going to end all right. Life is like that. "

His voice was light, but it held an appeal to which Crowther could notfail to respond. 

"God bless you, my son!" he said. "Life is such a mighty big thing thateven what we call failure doesn't count in the long run. You'll winthrough somehow. "

"And perhaps a little over, what?" laughed Piers. "Who knows?"

"Who knows?" Crowther echoed, with a smile. 

But he could not shake free from the chill foreboding that had descendedupon him, and when Piers had gone he stood for a long time before hisopen window, wrestling with the dark phantom, trying to reason away adread which he knew to be beyond all reasoning. 

And all through the night that followed, those words of Piers' pursuedhim, marring his rest: "It's a beastly desert road I'm on, but I knowit'll lead somewhere. " And the high courage of his bearing! The royalconfidence of his smile!

Ah, God! Those boys of the Empire, going forth so gallantly to thesacrifice!

CHAPTER VI

THE ENCOUNTER

Piers was right. When Avery left Stanbury Cliffs she went back to herold life at Rodding Vicarage. 

Local gossip regarding her estrangement from her husband had practicallyexhausted itself some time before, and in any case it would have beenswamped by the fevered anxiety that possessed the whole country duringthose momentous days. 

She slipped back into her old niche almost as if she had never left it. Mrs. Lorimer was ill with grief and overwork. It seemed only natural thatAvery should take up the burden of her care. Even the Vicar could saynothing against it. 

Avery sometimes wondered if Jeanie's death had pierced the armour of hisself-complacence at any point. If it had, it was not perceptible; but shedid fancy now and then that she detected in him a shade more ofconsideration for his wife than he had been wont to display. Hecondescended to bestow upon her a little more of his kindly patronage, and he was certainly less severe in his dealings with the children. 

Of the blank in Mrs. Lorimer's life only Avery had any conception, forshe shared it with her during every hour of the day. Perhaps her ownburden weighed more heavily upon her than ever before at that time, forthe anxiety she suffered was sometimes more than she could bear. ForPiers had gone from her without a word. Straight from Jeanie'sdeath-bed he had gone, without a single word of explanation or farewell. That she had wounded him deeply, albeit inadvertently, on that last dayshe knew; but with his arm closely clasping her by Jeanie's bedside shehad dared to hope that he had forgiven the wound. Now she felt that itwas otherwise. He had gone from her in bitterness of soul, and thebarrier between them was such that she could not call him back. More andmore the conviction grew upon her that those moments of tenderness hadbeen no more than a part of the game he had summoned her to play forJeanie's sake. He had called it a hollow bargain. He had declared thatfor no other reason would he have proposed it to her. And now that thefarce was over, he had withdrawn from it. He had said that he had notfound it easy. He had called it mere pretence. And now she had begun tothink that he meant their separation to be final. If he had uttered oneword of farewell, if he had but sent her a line later, she knew that shewould have responded in some measure even though the gulf between themremained unbridged. But his utter silence was unassailable. Theconviction grew upon her that he no longer desired to bridge the gulf. He meant to accept their estrangement as inevitable. He had left her, and he did not wish to return. 

Through the long weary watches of many nights Avery pondered hisattitude, and sought in vain for any other explanation. She came atlast to believe that the fierce flame of his passion had wholly burntitself out, consuming all the love he had ever known; and that onlyashes remained. 

So she could not call him back, and for a time she even shrank fromasking news of him. Then one day she met Victor sorrowfully exercisingCaesar along the confines of the Park, and stopped him when with amelancholy salute he would have passed her by. 

His eyes brightened a little at her action, but he volunteered noinformation and she decided later that he had obeyed orders in adoptingthis attitude. With an effort she questioned him. How was it he was notwith his master?

He spread out his hands in mournful protest. _Mais Monsieur Pierre_ hadnot required his services _depuis longtemps. _ He was become veryindependent. But yes, he was engaged upon war work. In the Army? But yesagain. Did not _Madame_ know? And then he became vague and sentimental, bemoaning his own age and consequent inactivity, and finally went awaywith brimming eyes and the dubiously expressed hope that _le bon Dieu_would fight on the right side. 

It was all wholly unsatisfactory, and Avery yearned to know more. But thepain of investigating further held her back. If that growing convictionof hers were indeed the truth, she shrank morbidly from seeming to makeany advance. No one seemed to know definitely what had become of Piers. She could not bring herself to apply to outsiders for information, andthere was no one to take up her case and make enquiries on her behalf. Lennox Tudor had volunteered for service in the Medical Corps and hadbeen accepted. She did not so much as know where he was, though he wasdeclared by Miss Whalley, who knew most things, to be on Salisbury Plain. She sometimes wondered with wry humour if Miss Whalley could haveenlightened her as to her husband's whereabouts; but that lady's attitudetowards her was invariably expressive of such icy disapproval that shenever ventured to put the wonder into words. 

And then one afternoon of brilliant autumn she was shopping with Graciein Wardenhurst, and came face to face with Ina Guyes. 

Dick Guyes had gone into the Artillery, and Ina had returned to herfather's house. She and Avery had not met since Ina's wedding day morethan a year before; but their recognition was mutual and instant. 

There was a moment of hesitation on both sides, a difficult moment ofintangible reluctance; then Avery held out her hand. 

"How do you do?" she said. 

Ina took the hand perfunctorily between her fingers and at oncerelinquished it. She was looking remarkably handsome, Avery thought; buther smile was not conspicuously amiable, and her eyes held something thatwas very nearly akin to condemnation. 

"Quite well, thanks, " she said, with her off-hand air of arrogance whichhad become much more marked since her marriage. "You all right?"

Avery felt herself grow reticent and chilly as she made reply. The girl'seyes of scornful enquiry made her stiffen instinctively. She was preparedto bow and pass on, but for some reason Ina was minded to linger. 

"Has Piers come down yet?" she asked abruptly. "I saw him in town twonights ago. I've been up there for a day or two with Dick, but he hasrejoined now. It's been embarkation leave. They're off directly. "

Off! Avery's heart gave a single hard throb and stood still. She lookedat Ina wordlessly. The shop in which they stood suddenly lost all formand sound. It seemed to float round her in nebulous billows. 

"Good gracious!" said Ina. "Don't look like that! What's up? Aren't youwell? Here, sit down! Or better still, come outside!"

She gripped Avery's arm in a tense, insistent grasp and piloted herto the door. 

Avery went, hardly knowing what she did. Ina turned commandinglyto Gracie. 

"Look here, child! You stay and collect the parcels! I'm going totake Lady Evesham a little way in the car. We'll come back for you ina few minutes. "

She had her own way, as she had always had it on every occasion, saveone, throughout her life. 

When Avery felt her heart begin to beat again, she was lying back in aclosed car with Ina seated beside her, very upright, extremely alert. 

"Don't speak!" the latter said, as their eyes met. "I'll tell you all Iknow. Dick and I have been stopping at Marchmont's for the last fivedays, and one night Piers walked in. Of course we made him join us. Hewas very thin, but looked quite tough and sunburnt. He is rathermagnificent in khaki--like a prince masquerading. I think he talkedwithout ceasing during the whole evening, but he didn't say a single wordthat I can remember. He expects to go almost any day now. He is in aregiment of Lancers, but I couldn't get any particulars out of him. Hedidn't choose to be communicative, so of course I left him alone. He isturning white about the temples; did you know?"

Avery braced herself to answer the blunt question. There was somethingmerciless about Ina's straight regard. It pierced her; but oddly she feltno resentment, only a curious sensation of compassionate sympathy. 

"Yes, I saw him--some weeks ago, " she said. 

"You have not decided to separate then? Everyone said you had. "

Ina's tone was brutally direct, yet still, strangely, Avery felt noindignation. 

"We have not been--friends--for the last year, " she said. 

"Ah! I thought not. And why? Just because of that story about your firsthusband's death that Dick's hateful cousin spread about on ourwedding-day?"

Ina looked at her with searching, challenging eyes, and Avery feltsuddenly as if she were the younger and weaker of the two. 

"Was it because of that?" Ina insisted. 

"Yes, " she admitted. 

"And you let such a thing as that come between you and--and--Piers!"There was incredulous amazement in Ina's voice. "You actually hadthe--the--the presumption!" Coherent words suddenly seemed to fail her, but she went on regardless, not caring how they came. "A man likePiers, --a--a--Triton like that, --such a being as is only turned out oncein--in a dozen centuries! Oh, fool! Fool!" She clenched her hands, andbeat them impotently upon her lap. "What did it matter what he'd done? Hewas yours. He worshipped you. And the worship of a man like Piers mustbe--must be--" She broke off, one hand caught convulsively to her throat;then swallowed hard and rushed on. "You sent him away, did you? Youwouldn't live with him any longer? My God! Piers!" Again her throatworked spasmodically, and she controlled it with fierce effort. "He won'tstay true to you of course, " she said, more quietly. "You don't expectthat, do you? You can't care--since you wouldn't stick to him. You'vepractically forced him into the mire. I sometimes think that one virtuouswoman can do more harm in the world than a dozen of the other sort. You've embittered him for life. You've made him suffer horribly. I expectyou've suffered too. I hope you have! But your sorrows are not to becompared with his. He has red blood in his veins, but you're tooattenuated with goodness to know what real suffering means. You had thewhole world in your grasp and you threw it away for a whim, just becauseyou were too small, too contemptibly mean, to understand. You thought youloved him, I daresay. Well, you didn't. Love is a very different thing. Love never casts away. But of course you can't understand that. You areone of those women who keep down all the blinds lest the sunshine shouldfade their souls. You don't know even the beginnings of Love!"

Passionately she uttered the words, but in a voice pitched so low thatAvery only just caught them. And having uttered them almost in the samebreath, she took up the speaking-tube and addressed the chauffeur. 

Avery sat quite still and silent. She felt as if she had been attackedand completely routed by a creature considerably smaller, but infinitelymore virile, more valiant, than herself. 

Ina did not speak to her again for several minutes. She threw herselfback against the cushion with an oddly petulant gesture, and leaned therestaring moodily out. 

Then, as they neared their starting-point, she sat up and spoke againwith a species of bored indifference. "Of course it's no affair of mine. I don't care two straws how you treat him. But surely you'll try and givehim some sort of send-off? I wouldn't let even Dick go without that. "

Even Dick! There was a world of revelation in those words. Avery's heartstirred again in pity, and still her indignation slumbered. 

They reached the shop before which Gracie was waiting for them, and stopped. 

"Good-bye!" Avery said gently. 

"Oh, good-bye!" Ina looked at her with eyes half closed. "I won't get outif you don't mind. I must be getting back. "

She did not offer her hand, but she did not refuse it when very quietlyAvery offered her own. It was not a warm hand-clasp on either side, butneither was it unfriendly. 

As she drove away, Ina leaned forward and bowed with an artificial smileon her lips. And Avery saw that she was very pale. 

CHAPTER VII

THE PLACE OF REPENTANCE

Like a prince masquerading! How vivid was the picture those words calledup to Avery's mind! The regal pose of the body, the turn of the head, thefaultless beauty of the features, and over all, that nameless pride ofrace, arrogant yet wholly unconscious--the stamp of the old Romanpatrician, revived from the dust of ages!

Aloof, yet never out of her ken, that picture hung before her all throughthe night, the centre-piece of every vision that floated through herweary brain. In the morning she awoke to a definite resolve. 

He had left her before she could stay him; but she would go to him now. Whether or not he wanted her, --yes, even with the possibility of seeinghim turn from her, --she would seek him out. Yet this once more she wouldoffer to him that love and faith which he had so cruelly sullied. If hetreated her with cold contempt, she would yet offer to him all that shehad--all that she had. Not because she had forgiven him or in any senseforgotten; but because she must; because neither forgiveness norforgetfulness came into the matter, but only those white hairs above histemples that urged her, that drove her, that compelled her. 

There were no white hairs in her own brown tresses. Could it be that hehad really suffered more than she? If so, God pity him! God help him!

For the first time since their parting, the prayer for him that rosefrom her heart kindled within her a glow that burned as fire from thealtar. She had prayed. She had prayed. But her prayers had seemed tocome back to her from a void immeasurable that held nought but theechoes of her cry. 

But now--was it because she was ready to act as well as to pray?--itseemed to her that her appeal had reached the Infinite. And it was thenthat she began to learn that prayer is not only a passive asking, but theeager straining of every nerve towards fulfilment. 

It seemed useless to go to the Abbey for news. She would master herreluctance and go to Crowther. She was sure that he would be in aposition to tell her all there was to know. 

Mrs. Lorimer warmly applauded the idea. The continued estrangement of thetwo people whom she loved so dearly was one of her greatest secretsorrows now. She urged Avery to go, shedding tears over the thought ofPiers going unspeeded into the awful dangers of war. 

So by the middle of the morning Avery was on her way. It seemed to herthe longest journey she had ever travelled. She chafed at every pause. And through it all, Ina's fierce words ran in a perpetual refrain throughher brain: "Love never casts away--Love never casts away. "

She felt as if the girl had ruthlessly let a flood of light in upon hergloom, dazzling her, bewildering her, hurting her with its brilliance. She had forced aside those drawn blinds. She had pierced to the innermostcorners. And Avery herself was shocked by that which had been revealed. It had never before been given to her to see her own motives, her ownsoul, thus. She had not dreamed of the canker of selfishness that lay atthe root of all. With shame she remembered her assurance to her husbandthat her love should never fail him. What of that love now--Love theInvincible that should have shattered the gates of the prison-house andled him forth in triumph?

Reaching town, she drove straight to Crowther's rooms. But she was metwith disappointment. Crowther was out. He would be back in the evening, she was told, but probably not before. 

Wearily she went down again and out into the seething life of the streetsto spend the longest day of her life waiting for his return. Looking backupon that day afterwards, she often wondered how she actually spent thetime. To and fro, to and fro, this way and that; now trying to ease hersoul by watching the soldiers at drill in the Park, the long, long khakilines and sunburnt faces; now pacing the edge of the water and seekingdistraction in the antics of some water-fowl; now back again in thestreets, moving with the crowd, seeing soldiers, soldiers on every hand, scanning each almost mechanically with the vagrant hope of meeting onewho moved with a haughty pride of carriage and looked like a prince indisguise. Sometimes she stood to see a whole troop pass by, splendid boysswinging along with laughter and careless singing. She listened to thetramping feet and merry voices with a heart that sank ever lower andlower. She had started the day with a quivering wonder if the end of itmight find her in his arms. But ever as the hours passed by the certaintygrew upon her that this would not be. She grew sick with the longing tosee his face. She ached for the sound of his voice. And deep in the heartof her she knew that this futile yearning was to be her portion for many, many days. For over a year he had waited, and he had waited in vain. Nowit was her turn. 

It was growing dusk when she went again in search of Crowther. He had notreturned, but she could not endure that aimless wandering any longer. Shewent in to wait for him, there in the room where Piers had foundsanctuary during some of the darkest hours of his life. 

She was too utterly wearied to move about, but sat sunk in the chairby the window, almost too numbed with misery and fatigue for coherentthought. The dusk deepened about her. The roar of London's life camevaguely from afar. Through it and above it she still seemed to hear thetread of the marching feet as the gallant lines swung by. And stillwith aching concentration she seemed to be searching for that onebeloved face. 

What did it matter what he had done? He was hers. He was hers. And, OGod, how she wanted him! How gladly in that hour would she have yieldedhim all--all that she had to offer!

There came a quiet step without, a steady hand on the door. She startedup with a wild hope clamouring at her heart. Might he not be there also?It was possible! Surely it was possible!

She took a quick step forward. No conventional word would rise to herlips. They only stiffly uttered the one name, "Piers!"

And Crowther answered her, just as though no interval of more than ayear lay between them and the old warm friendship. "He left for theFront today. "

With the words he reached her, and she remembered later thesustaining strength with which his hands upheld her when she reeledbeneath the blow. 

He put her down again in the chair, and knelt beside her, for she clungto him convulsively, scarcely knowing what she did. 

"He ought to have let you know, " he said. "But he wouldn't be persuaded. I believe--right up to the last--he hoped he would hear something of you. But you know him, his damnable pride, --or was it chivalry this time? Onmy soul, I scarcely know which. He behaved almost as if he were under anoath not to make the first advance. I am very sorry, Avery. But my handswere tied. "

He paused, and she knew that he was waiting for a word from her--ofkindness or reproach--some intimation of her feelings towards himself. But she could only utter voicelessly, "I shall never see him again. "

He pressed her icy hands close in his own, but he said no word of hope. He seemed to know instinctively that it was not the moment. 

"You can write to him, " he said. "You can write now--tonight. The letterwill reach him in a few days at most. He calls himself Beverley--PrivateBeverley. Let me give you some tea, and you can sit down and writestraight away. "

Kindly and practical, he offered her the consolation of immediate action;and the crushing sense of loss began gradually to lose its hold upon her. 

"I am going to tell you everything--all I know, " he said. "I told him Ishould do so if you came to me. I only wish you had come a little sooner, but that is beside the point. "

Again he paused. Her eyes were upon him, but she said nothing. 

Finding her hold had slackened, he got up, lighted a lamp, and sat downwith its light streaming across his rugged face. 

"I don't know what you have been thinking of me all this time, " he said, "if you have stooped to think of me at all. "

"I have often thought of you, " Avery answered. "But I had a feeling thatyou--that you--" she hesitated--"that you could scarcely be in sympathywith us both, " she ended. 

"I see. " Crowther's eyes met hers with absolute directness. "But yourealize that that was a mistake, " he said. 

She answered him in the affirmative. Before those straight eyes of hisshe could not do otherwise. 

"I could not express my sympathy with you, " he said. "I did not evenknow that it would be welcome, and I could not interfere without yourhusband's consent. I was bound by a promise. But--" he smiled faintly--"Itold him clearly that if you came to me I should not keep that promise. Ishould regard it as my release. "

"What have you to tell me?" Avery asked. 

"Just this, " he said. "It isn't a very long story, but I don't think youhave heard it before. It's just the story of one of the worst bits of badluck that ever befell a man. He was only a lad of nineteen, and he wentout into the world with all his life before him. He was rich andsuccessful in every way, full of promise, brilliant. There was somethingso splendid about him that he seemed somehow to belong to a higherplanet. He had never known failure or disgrace. But one night an evilfate befell him. He was forced to fight--against his will; and--he killedhis man. It was an absolutely unforeseen result. He took heavy odds, andnaturally he matched them with all the skill at his command. But it was afair fight. I testify to that. He took no mean advantage. "

Crowther's eyes were gazing beyond Avery. He spoke with a curiousdeliberation as if he were describing a vision that hung before him. 

"He himself was more shocked by the man's death than anyone I have everseen. He accepted the responsibility at once. There is a lot of nobilityat the back of that man's soul. He wanted to give himself up. But Istepped in. I took the law into my own hands. I couldn't stand by and seehim ruined. I made him bolt. He went, and I saw no more of him for sixyears. That ends the first chapter of the story. "

He paused, as if for question or comment; but Avery sat in unbrokensilence. Her eyes also were fixed as it were upon something very faraway. 

After a moment, he resumed. "Six years after, I stopped at Monte Carloon my way home, and I chanced upon him there. He was with his oldgrandfather, living a life that would have driven most young men crazywith boredom. But--I told you there was something fine about him--hetreated the whole thing as a joke, and I saw that he was the apple of theold man's eye. He hailed me as an old friend. He welcomed me back intohis life as if I were only associated with pleasant things. But I soonsaw that he was not happy. The memory of that tragedy was hanging on himlike a millstone. He was trying to drag himself free. But he was like adog on a chain. He could see his liberty, but he could not reach it. Andthe fact that he loved a woman, and believed that he had won her lovemade the burden even heavier. So I gathered, though he had his intervalsof reckless happiness when nothing seemed to matter. I didn't know whothe woman was at first, but I urged him strongly to tell her the truthbefore he married her. And then somehow, while we were walking togetherone night, it came out--that trick of Fate; and in his horror and despairthe boy very nearly went under altogether. It was just the fineness ofhis nature that kept him up. "

"And your help, " said Avery quietly. 

His eyes comprehended her for a moment. "Yes, I did my best, " he said. "But it was his own nobility in the main that gave him strength. Have younever noticed that about him? He has the greatness that only comes tomost men after years of struggle. "

"I have noticed, " Avery said, her voice very low. 

Crowther went on in his slow, steady way. "Well, after that, I left. Andthe next thing I knew was that the old man had died, and he was marriedto you. You didn't let me into the secret very soon, you know. " He smileda little. "Of course I realized that you had gone to him rather suddenlyto comfort his loneliness. It was just the sort of thing I should haveexpected of you. And I thought--too--that he had told you all, and youhad loved him well enough to forgive him. It wasn't till I came to seeyou that I realized that this was not so, and I had been in the housesome hours even then before it dawned on me. "

Again he spoke as one describing something seen afar. 

"Of course I was sorry, " he said. "I knew that sooner or later you werebound to come up against it. I couldn't help. I just waited. And as itchanced, I didn't have to wait very long. Piers came to me one night inAugust, and told me that the whole thing had come out, and that you hadrefused to live with him any longer. I understood your feelings. It wasinevitable that at first you should feel like that. But I knew you lovedhim. I knew that sooner or later that would make a difference. And Itried to hearten him up. For he--poor lad!--was nearly mad with trouble. "

Avery's hands closed tightly upon each other in her lap. She sat instrained silence, still gazing straight before her. 

Gently Crowther finished his tale. "That's about all there is to tell, except that from the day he left you to this, he has borne his burdenlike a man, and he has never once done anything unworthy of you. He is aman, Avery, not a boy any longer. He is a man you can trust, for he willnever deceive you again. If he hasn't yet found his place of repentance, it hasn't been for lack of the seeking. If you can send him a line offorgiveness, he will go into this war with a high heart, and you willhave reason to be proud of him when you meet again. "

He got up and moved in his slow, massive way across the room. 

"Now you will let me give you some tea, " he said. "I am sure you mustbe tired. "

Had he seen the tears rolling down her face as she sat there? If so hegave no sign. Quietly he busied himself with his preparations, and beforehe came back to her, she had wiped them away. 

He waited upon her with womanly gentleness, and later he went with her tothe hotel at which Piers usually stayed, and saw her established therefor the night. 

It was not till the moment of parting that she found any words in whichto express herself. 

Then, with her hand in his, she whispered chokingly, "I feel as if--asif--I had failed him--just when he needed me most. He was in prison, and--I left him there. "

Crowther's steady eyes looked into hers with kindness that was full ofsustaining comfort. "He has broken out of his prison, " he said. "Don'tfret--don't fret!"

Her lips were quivering painfully. She turned her face aside. "He willscarcely need me now, " she said. 

"Write and ask him!" said Crowther gently. 

She made a piteous gesture of hopelessness. "I have got to find my ownplace of repentance first, " she said. 

"It shouldn't wait, " said Crowther. "Write tonight!"

And so for half the night Avery sat writing a letter to her husband whichhe was destined never to receive. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE RELEASE OF THE PRISONER

How long was it since the fight round the château? Piers had no idea. Thedamp chill of the autumn night was upon him and he was cold to the bone. 

It had been a desperate fight in which quarter had been neither asked norgiven, hand to hand and face to face, with wild oaths and dreadfullaughter. He had not noticed the tumult at the time, but the echoes of itstill rang in his ears. A desperate fight against overwhelming odds! Forthe chateau had been strongly held, and the struggle for it had seemedTitanic, albeit only a detail of a rearguard action. There had been gunsthere that had harried them all the previous day. It had become a matterof necessity to silence those guns. So the effort had been made, aglorious effort crowned with success. They had mastered the garrison, they had silenced the guns; and then, within an hour of their victory, disaster had come upon them. Great numbers of the enemy had sweptsuddenly upon them, had surrounded them and swallowed them up. 

It was all over now. The tide of battle had swept on. The place wassilent as the grave. He was the only man left, flung as it were upon adust-heap in a corner of the world that had ceased to matter to anyone. 

He had lain for hours unconscious till those awful chills had awakenedhim. Doubtless he had been left for dead among his dead comrades. Hewondered why he was not dead. He had a distinct recollection of beingshot through the heart. And the bullet had gone out at his back. Hevividly remembered that also--the red-hot anguish as it had torn its waythrough him, the awful emptiness of death that had followed. 

How had he escaped--if he had escaped? How had he returned from thatgreat silence? Why had the dread Door shut against him only, imprisoninghim here when all the rest had passed through? There seemed to be somemystery about it. He tried to follow it out. Death was no difficultmatter. He was convinced of that. Yet somehow Death had eluded him. Hewas as a man who had lost his way in a fog. Doubtless he would find itagain. He did not want to wander alone in this valley of dry bones. Hewanted to get free. He was sure that sooner or later that searing, red-hot bullet would do its work. 

For a space he drifted back into the vast sea of unconsciousness in whichhe had been submerged for so long. Even that was bound to lead somewhere. Surely there was no need to worry!

But very soon it ceased to be a calm sea. It grew troubled. It began totoss. He felt himself flung from billow to billow, and the sound of agreat storm rose in his ears. 

He opened his eyes suddenly wide to a darkness that could be felt, and itwas as though a flame of agony went through him, a raging thirst thatburned him fiendishly. 

Ah! He knew the meaning of that! It was horribly familiar to him. He wasback in hell--back in the torture-chamber where he had so often agonized, closed in behind those bars of iron which he had fought so often and sofruitlessly to force asunder. 

He stretched out his hands and one of them came into contact with the icycold of a dead man's face. It was the man who had shot him, and who inhis turn had been shot. He shuddered at the touch, shrank into himself. And again the fiery anguish caught him, set him writhing; shrivelled himas parchment is shrivelled in the flame. He went through it, racked withtorment, conscious of nought else in all the world, so pierced andpossessed by pain that it seemed as if all the suffering that those deadmen had missed were concentrated within him. He felt as if it mustshatter him, soul and body, dissolve him with its sheer intensity. Andyet somehow his straining flesh endured. He came through his inferno, sweating, gasping, with broken prayers and the wrung, bitter crying ofsmitten strength!

Again the black sea took him, bearing him to and fro, deadening his painbut giving him no rest. He tossed on the troubled waters forinterminable ages. He watched a full moon rise blood-red and awful andturn gradually to a whiteness of still more appalling purity. For along, long time he watched it, trying to recall something which eludedhim, chasing a will-o'-the-wisp memory round and round the feveredlabyrinths of his brain. 

Then at last very suddenly it turned and confronted him. There in theold-world garden that was every moment growing more distinct anddefinite, he looked once more upon his wife's face in the moonlight, sawher eyes of shrinking horror raised to his, heard her low-spoken words:"I shall never forgive you. "

The vision passed, blotted out by returning pain. He buried his headbeneath his arms and groaned. . . . 

Again--hours after, it seemed, --the great cloud of his agony lifted. Hecame to himself, feeling deadly sick but no longer gripped by thatfiendish torture. He raised himself on his elbows and faced the blindingmoonlight. It seemed to pierce him, but he forced himself to meet it. Helooked forth over the silent garden. 

Strange silhouettes of shrubs weirdly fashioned filled the place. Ata little distance he caught the gleam of white marble, and therecame to him the tinkle of a fountain. He became aware again of ragingthirst--thirst that tore at the very root of his being. He gatheredhimself together for the greatest effort of his life. The sound ofthe water mocked him, maddened him. He would drink--he woulddrink--before he died!

The man at his side lay with face upturned starkly to the moonlight. Itgleamed upon eyes that were glazed and sightless. The ground all aroundthem was dark with blood. 

Slowly Piers raised himself, feeling his heart pump with the effort, feeling the stiffened wound above it tear and gape asunder. He tried tohold his breath while he moved, but he could not. It came in sharp, painful gasps, sawing its way through his tortured flesh. But in spite ofit he managed to lift himself to his hands and knees; and then for along, long time he dared attempt no more. For he could feel the bloodflowing steadily from his wound, and a deadly faintness was upon himagainst which he needed all his strength to fight. 

He thought it must have overwhelmed him for a time at least; yet when itbegan to lessen he had not sunk down again. He was still propped uponhands and knees--the only living creature in that place of dead men. 

He could see them which ever way he looked over the trampledsward--figures huddled or outstretched in the moonlight, all motionless, ashen-faced. 

He saw none wounded like himself. Perhaps the wounded had been alreadycollected, perhaps they had crawled to shelter. Or perhaps he was theonly one against whom the Door had been closed. He had been left fordead. He had nothing to live for. Yet it seemed that he could not die. 

He looked at the man at his side lying wrapt in the aloofness of Death. Poor devil! How horrible he looked, and how indifferent! A sense ofshuddering disgust came upon Piers. He wondered if he would die ashideously. 

Again the fountain mocked him softly from afar. Again the fiery tormentof his thirst awoke. He contemplated attempting to walk, but instinctwarned him against the risk of a headlong fall. He began with infinitedifficulty to crawl upon hands and knees. 

His progress was desperately slow, the suffering it entailed wassometimes unendurable. And always he knew that the blood was drainingfrom him with every foot of ground he covered. But ever that maddeningfountain lured him on... 

The night had stretched into untold ages. He wondered if in hisfrequent spells of unconsciousness he had somehow missed many days. Hehad seen the moon swing half across the sky. He had watched withdelirious amusement the dead men rise to bury each other. And he hadspent hours in wondering what would happen to the last of them. Hishead felt oddly light, as if it were full of air, a bubble of prismaticcolours that might burst into nothingness at any moment. But his bodyfelt as if it were fettered with a thousand chains. He could hear themclanking as he moved. 

But still that fountain with its marble basin seemed the end and aim ofhis existence. Often he forgot to be thirsty now, but he never forgotthat he must reach the fountain before he died. 

Sometimes his thirst would come back in burning spasms to urge him on, and he always knew that there was a great reason for perseverance, alwaysfelt that if he slackened he would pay a terrible penalty. 

The fountain was very far away. He crawled along with ever-increasingdifficulty, marking the progress of his own shadow in the strongmoonlight. There was something pitiless about the moon. It revealed somuch that might have been mercifully veiled. 

From the far distance there came the long roll of cannon, shattering thepeace of the night, but it was a long way off. In the château-gardenthere was no sound but the tinkle of the fountain and the laboured, spasmodic breathing of a man wounded wellnigh unto death. 

Only a few yards separated him now from the running water. It soundedlike a fairy laughter, and all the gruesome horrors of the place fadedinto unreality. Surely it was fed by the stream at home that flowedthrough the preserves--the stream where the primroses grew!

Only a few more yards! But how damnably difficult it was to cover them!He could hardly drag his weighted limbs along. It was the old game. Heknew it well. But how devilish to fetter him so! It had been the ruin ofhis life. He set his teeth, and forced himself on. He would win throughin spite of all. 

The moonlight poured dazzlingly upon the white marble basin, and on thefigure of a nymph who bent above it, delicately poised like a butterflyabout to take wing. He wondered if she would flee at his approach, butshe did not. She stood there waiting for him, a thing of infinitedaintiness, the one object untouched in that ravaged garden. Perhapsafter all it was she and not the fountain that drew him so irresistibly. He had a great longing to hear her speak, but he was afraid to addressher lest he should scare her away. She was so slight, so spiritual, soexquisite in her fairy grace. She made him think of Jeanie--little Jeaniewho had prayed for his happiness and had not lived to see her prayerfulfilled. 

He drew near with a certain stealthiness, fearing to startle her. Hewould have risen to his feet, but his strength was ebbing fast. He knewhe could not. 

And then--just ere he reached the marble basin, the goal of that long, bitter journey--he saw her turn a little towards him; he heard her speak. 

"Dear Sir Galahad!"

"Jeanie!" he gasped. 

She seemed to sway above the gleaming water. Even then--even then--he wasnot sure of her--till he saw her face of childish purity and the happysmile of greeting in her eyes!

"How very tired you must be!" she said. 

"I am, Jeanie! I am!" he groaned in answer. "These chains--these ironbars--I shall never get free!"

He saw her white arms reach out to him. He thought her fingers touchedhis brow. And he knew quite suddenly that the journey was over, and hecould lie down and rest. 

Her voice came to him very softly, with a hushing tenderness through theminiature rush and gurgle of the water. As usual she sought to comforthim, but he heard a thrill of triumph as well as sympathy in her words. 

"He hath broken the gates of brass, " she said. "And smitten the bars ofiron in sunder. "

His fingers closed upon the edge of the pool. He felt the water splashhis face as he sank down; and though he was too spent to drink he thankedGod for bringing him thither. 

Later it seemed to him that a Divine Presence came through the garden, that Someone stooped and touched him, and lo, his chains were broken andhis burden gone! And he roused himself to ask for pardon; which wasgranted to him ere that Presence passed away. 

He never knew exactly what happened after that night in the garden of theruined château. There were a great many happenings, but none of themseemed to concern him very vitally. 

He wandered through great spaces of oblivion, intersected with terriblestreaks of excruciating pain. During the intervals of this fearfulsuffering he was acutely conscious, but he invariably forgot everythingagain when the merciful unconsciousness came back. He knew in a vague waythat he lay in a hospital-tent with other dying men, knew when they movedhim at last because he could not die, suffered agonies unutterable uponan endless road that never seemed to lead to anywhere, and finally awoketo find that the journey had been over for several days. 

He tried very hard not to wake. Waking invariably meant anguish. Helonged unspeakably for Death, but Death was denied him. And when someonecame and stooped over him and took his nerveless hand, he whispered withclosed eyes an earnest request not to be called back. 

"It's such--a ghastly business--" he muttered piteously--"this waking. "

"Won't you speak to a friend, Piers?" a voice said. 

He opened his eyes then. He had not heard his own name for months. Helooked up into eyes that gleamed hawk-like through glasses, and a throbof recognition went through his heart. 

"You!" he whispered, striving desperately to master the sickening painthat that throb had started. 

"All right. Don't speak for a bit!" said Tudor quietly. "I think I canhelp you. "

He did help, working over him steadily, with the utmost gentleness, tillthe worst of the paroxysm was past. 

Piers was pathetically grateful. His high spirit had sunk very low inthose days. No one that he could remember had ever done anything to easehis pain before. 

"It's been--so infernal, " he whispered presently. "You know--I wasshot--through the heart. "

Tudor's face was very grave. "Yes, you're pretty bad, " he said. "Butyou've pulled through so far. It's in your favour, that. And look here, you must lie flat on your back always. Do you understand? It's about youronly chance. "

"Of living?" whispered Piers. "But I don't want to live. I want to die. "

"Don't be a fool!" said Tudor. 

"I'm not a fool. I hate life!" A tremor of passion ran through the words. 

Tudor laid a hand upon him. "Piers, if ever any man had anything to livefor, you are that man, " he said. 

"What do you mean?" Piers' eyes, dark as the night through which he hadcome, looked up at him. 

"I mean just that. If you can't live for your own sake, live for hers!She wants you. It'll break her heart if you go out now. "

"Great Scott, man! You're not in earnest!" whispered Piers. 

"I am in earnest. I know exactly what I am saying. I don't talk atrandom. She loved you. She wants you. You've lived for yourself all yourlife. Now--you've got to live for her. "

Tudor's voice was low and vehement. A faint sparkle came into Piers' eyesas he heard it. 

"By George!" he said softly. "You're rather a brick, what? But haven'tyou thought--what might happen--if--if I went out after all? You used tobe rather great--at getting me out of the way. "

"I didn't realize how all-important you were, " rejoined Tudor, with abitter smile. "You needn't go any further in that direction. It leads toa blank wall. You've got to live whether you like it or not. I'm goingto do all I can to make you live, and you'll be a hound if you don'tback me up. "

His eyes looked down upon Piers, dominant and piercingly intent. And--perhaps it was mere physical weakness, or possibly the voluntaryyielding of a strong will that was in its own way as great as thestrength to which it yielded--Piers surrendered with a meekness such asTudor had never before witnessed in him. 

"All right, " he said. "I'll do--my best. "

And so oddly they entered into a partnership that had for its sole endand aim the happiness of the woman they loved; and in that partnershiptheir rivalry was forever extinguished. 

CHAPTER IX

HOLY GROUND

"They say he will never fight again, " said Crowther gravely. "He maylive. They think he will live. But he will never be strong. "

"If only I might see him!" Avery said. 

"Yes, I know. That is the hardest part. But be patient a little longer!So much depends on it. I was told only this morning that any agitationmight be fatal. No one seems to understand how it is that he has managedto live at all. He is just hanging on, poor lad, --just hanging on. "

"I want to help him, " Avery said. 

"I know you do. And so you can--if you will. But not by going to him. That would do more harm than good. "

"How else can I do anything?" she said. "Surely--surely he wantsto see me!"

She was standing in Crowther's room, facing him with that in her eyesthat moved him to a great compassion. 

He put his hand on her shoulder. "My dear, of course he wants to see you;but there will be no keeping him quiet when he does. He isn't equal toit. He is putting up the biggest fight of his life, and he wants all hisstrength for it. But you can do your part now if you will. You can godown to Rodding Abbey and make ready to receive him there. And you cansend Victor to help me with him as soon as he is able to leave thehospital. He and I will bring him down to you. And if you will be therejust in the ordinary way, I think there will be less risk of excitement. Will you do this, Avery? Is it asking too much of you?"

His grey eyes looked straight down into hers with the wide friendlinessthat was as the open gateway to his soul, and some of the bitter strainof the past few weeks passed from her own as she looked back. 

"Nothing would be too much, " she said. "I would do anything--anything. But if he should want me--and I were not at hand? If--if--heshould--die--" Her voice sank. 

Crowther's hand pressed upon her. "He is not going to die, " he saidstoutly. "He doesn't mean to die. But he will probably have to go slowfor the rest of his life. That is where you will be able to help him. Hisonly chance lies in patience. You must teach him to be patient. "

Her lips quivered in a smile. "Piers!" she said. "Can you picture it?"

"Yes, I can. Because I know that only patience can have brought him towhere he is at present. They say it is nothing short of a miracle, and Ibelieve it. God often works His miracles that way. And I always knewthat Piers was great. "

Crowther's slow smile appeared, transforming his whole face. He heldAvery's hand for a little, and let it go. 

"So you will do this, will you?" he said. "I think the boy would be justabout pleased to find you there. And you can depend on me to bring himdown to you as soon as he is able to bear it. "

"You are very good, " Avery said. "Yes, I will go. "

But, as Crowther knew, in going she accepted the hardest part; and theweeks that she then spent at Rodding Abbey waiting, waiting with a sickanxiety, left upon her a mark which no time could ever erase. 

When Crowther's message came to her at last, she was almost too crushedto believe. Everything was in readiness, had been in readiness for weeks. She had prepared in fevered haste, telling herself that any day mightbring him. But day had followed day, and the news had always beendepressing, first of weakness, fits of pain, terrible collapses, andagain difficult recoveries. Not once had she been told that any groundhad been gained. 

And so when one day a telegram reached her earlier than usual, shehardly dared to open it, so little did she anticipate that the newscould be good. 

And even when the words stared her in the face: "Bringing Piers thisafternoon, Crowther, " she could not for awhile believe them, and soughtinstinctively to read into them some sinister meaning. 

How she got through that day, she never afterwards knew. The hoursdragged leaden-footed. There was nothing to be done. She would not leavethe house lest by some impossible chance he might arrive before theafternoon, but she felt that to stay within its walls was unendurable. Sofor the most part she paced the terrace, breathing the dank, autumnalair, picturing every phase of his journey, but never daring to picturehis arrival, praying piteous, disjointed prayers that only her own soulseemed to hear. 

The afternoon began to wane, and dusk came down. A small drifting rainset in with the darkness, but she was not even aware of it till David, very deferential and subdued, came to her and suggested that if she wouldwait in the hall Sir Piers would see her at once, as he had taken theliberty to turn on all the lights. 

She knew that the old man made the suggestion out of the goodness of hisheart, and she fell in with it, realizing the wisdom of going within. Butwhen she found herself in the full glare of the great hall, alone withthose shining suits of armour that mounted guard on each side of thefireplace, the awful suspense came upon her with a force that nothingcould alleviate. She turned with sick loathing from the tea-tray thatDavid had placed for her so comfortingly close to the fire. Every momentthat passed was an added torture. It was dark, it was late. Theconviction was growing in her heart that when they came at last, theywould bring with them only her husband's dead body. 

She rose and went to the open door. Where was his spirit now, shewondered? Had he leapt ahead of that empty, travelling shell? Was healready close--close--his arm entwined in hers? She covered her facewith her hands. "Oh, Piers, I can't go on alone, " she sobbed. "If you aredead--I must die too!"

And then, as though in obedience to a voice that had spoken within her, she raised her head again and gazed forth. The rain had drifted away. Through scudding clouds of darkness there shone, serene and splendid, asingle star. Her heart gave a great throb, and was still. 

"The Star of Hope!" she murmured wonderingly. "The Star of Hope!"

And in that moment inexplicably yet convincingly she knew that herprayers that had seemed so fruitless had been heard, and that an answerwas very near at hand.... 

There came the sound of a horn from the direction of the lodge. Theywere coming. 

She turned her head and looked down the dark avenue. But she was nolonger agitated or distressed by fear. She knew not what might be instore for her, but somehow, mystically, she had been endued with strengthto meet it unafraid. 

She heard the soft buzz of a high-powered car, and presently two lightsappeared at the further end. They came towards her swiftly, almostsilently. It was like the swoop of an immense bird. And then in thestrong glare shed forth by the hall-lamps she saw the huge body of anambulance-car, and a Red Cross flared symbolic in the light. 

The car came to a stand immediately before her, and for a few momentsnothing happened. And still she was not afraid. Still she was as it wereguided and sustained and lifted above all turmoil. She seemed to stand ona mountain-top, above the seething misery that had for so long possessedher. She was braced to look upon even Death unshaken, undismayed. 

Steadily she moved. She went down to the car. Old David was behind her. He came forward and opened the door with fumbling, quivering hands. Shehad time to notice his agitation and to be sorry for him. 

Then a voice came to her from within, and a great throb went through herof thankfulness, of relief, of joy unspeakable. 

"Victor, you old ass, what are you blubbing for? Anyone would think--" Asudden pause, then in a low, eager tone, "Hullo, --Avery?"

The incredulous interrogation of the words cut her to the heart. She wentup the step and into the car as if drawn by an irresistible magnetism, seeing neither Crowther nor Victor, aware only of a prone, gaunt figureon a stretcher, white-haired, skeleton-featured, that reached a tremblinghand to her and said again, "Hullo!"

For one wild second she felt as if she were in the presence of old SirBeverley, so striking was the likeness that the drawn, upturned face boreto him. Then Piers' eyes, black as the night, smiled up at her, half-imperious, half-pleading, and the illusion was gone. 

She stooped over him, that trembling hand fast clasped in hers; but shecould not speak. No words would come. 

"Been waiting, what?" he said. "I hope not for long?"

But still she could not speak. She felt choked. It was all so unnatural, so cruelly hard to bear. 

"I shan't be like this always, " he said. "Afraid I look an awful guy justat present. "

That was all then, for Crowther came gently between them; and then heand Victor, with infinite care, lifted the stretcher and bore the masterof the house into his own home. 

Half an hour later Avery turned from waving a farewell to Crowther, whohad insisted upon going back to town with the car that had brought them, and softly shut out the night. 

She had had the library turned into a bedroom for Piers, and she crossedthe hall to the door with an eagerness that carried her no further. There, gripping the handle, she was stayed. 

Within, she could hear Victor moving to and fro, but she listened in vainfor her husband's voice, and a great shyness came upon her. She could notask permission to enter. 

Minutes passed while she stood there, minutes of tense listening, during which she scarcely seemed to breathe. Then very suddenly sheheard a sound that set every nerve a-quiver--a groan that was more ofweariness than pain, but such weariness as made her own heart throb inpassionate sympathy. 

Almost without knowing it, she turned the handle of the door, and openedit. A moment more, and she was in the room. 

He was lying flat in the bed, his dark eyes staring upwards out of deephollows that had become cruelly distinct. There was dumb endurance inevery line of him. His mouth was hard set, the chin firm as granite. Andeven then in his utter helplessness there was about him a greatness, amute, unconscious majesty, that caught her by the throat. 

She went softly to the bedside. 

He turned his head at her coming, not quickly, not with any eagerness ofwelcome; but with that in his eyes, a slow kindling, that seemed tosurround her with the glow of a great warmth. 

But when he spoke, it was upon no intimate subject. "Has Crowthergone?" he asked. 

His voice was pitched very low. She saw that he spoke with deliberatequietness, as if he were training himself thereto. 

"Yes, " she made answer. "He wouldn't stay. "

"He couldn't, " said Piers. "He is going to be ordained tomorrow. "

"Oh, is he?" she said in surprise. "He never told me!"

"He wouldn't, " said Piers. "He never talks about himself. " He moved hishand slightly towards her. "Won't you sit down?"

She glanced round. Victor was advancing behind her with a chair. Piers'eyes followed hers, and an instant later, turning back, she saw his quickfrown. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers with the old imperiousgesture, pointing to the door; and in a moment Victor, with a smile ofpeculiar gratification, put down the chair, trotted to it, opened it witha flourish, and was gone. 

Avery was left standing by the bed, slightly uncertain, wanting to smile, but wanting much more to cry. 

Piers' hand fell heavily. For a few seconds he lay perfectly still, withquickened breathing and drawn brows. Then his fingers patted the edge ofthe bed. "Sit down, sweetheart!" he said. 

It was Piers the boy-lover who spoke to her with those words, and, hearing them, something seemed to give way within her. It was as if atight band round her heart had suddenly been torn asunder. 

She sank down on her knees beside the bed, and hid her face in hispillow. Tears--tears such as she had not shed since the beginningof their bitter estrangement--came welling up from her heart andwould not be restrained. She sobbed her very soul out there besidehim, subconsciously aware that in that hour his strength wasgreater than hers. 

Like an overwhelming torrent her distress came upon her, caught hertempestuously, swept her utterly from her own control, tossed her hitherand thither, flung her at last into a place of deep, deep silence, where, still kneeling with head bowed low, she became conscious, strangely, intimately conscious, of the presence of God. 

It held her like a spell, that consciousness. She was as one who kneelsbefore a vision. And even while she knelt there, lost in wonder, therecame to her the throbbing gladness of faith renewed, the certainty thatall would be well. 

Piers' hand was on her head, stroking, caressing, soothing. By no wordsdid he attempt to comfort her. It was strange how little either of themfelt the need of words. They were together upon holy ground, and incloser communion each with each than they had ever been before. Thosetears of Avery's had washed away the barrier. 

Once, some time later, he whispered to her, "I never asked you to forgiveme, Avery; but--"

And that was the nearest he ever came to asking her forgiveness. For shestopped the words with her lips on his, and he never thought of utteringthem again. 

EPILOGUE

Christmas Eve and children's voices singing in the night! Two figures bythe open window listening--a man and a woman, hand in hand in the dark!

"Don't let them see us yet!" It was the woman's voice, low but with adeep thrill in it as of full and complete content. "I knew they werecoming. Gracie whispered it to me this morning. But I wasn't to tellanyone. She was so afraid their father might forbid it. "

The man answered with a faint, derisive laugh that yet had in it an echoof the woman's satisfaction. He did not speak, for already through thewinter darkness a single, boyish voice had taken up another verse:

"He comes, the prisoners to releaseIn Satan's bondage held;The gates of brass before Him burst, The iron fetters yield. "

The woman's fingers clung fast to his. "Love opens every door, " shewhispered. 

His answering grip was close and strong. But he said nothing while thelast triumphant lines were repeated. 

"The gates of brass before Him burst, The iron fetters yield. "

The next verse was sung by two voices in harmony, very soft and hushed. 

"He comes the broken heart to bind, The bleeding soul to cure, And with the treasures of His graceTo bless the humble poor. "

Then came a pause, while through the quiet night there floated the soundof distant bells. 

"Look!" said Piers suddenly. 

And Avery, kneeling beside him, raised her eyes. 

There, high above the trees, alone and splendid, there shone a great, quivering star. 

His arm slid round her neck. "The Star of Hope, Avery, " he whispered. "Yours--and mine. "

She clung to him silently, with a closeness that was passionate. 

And so the last verse, very clear and strong, came to them out ofthe night. 

"Our glad hosannas, Prince of Peace, Thy welcome shall proclaim, And Heaven's eternal arches ringWith Thy beloved Name. And Heaven's eternal arches ringWith Thy beloved Name. "

Avery leaned her head against her husband's shoulder. "I hear an angelsinging, " she said. 

 * * * * *

Ten minutes later, Gracie stood in the great hall with the red glow ofthe fire spreading all about her, her bright eyes surveying the master ofthe house who lay back in a low easy-chair with his wife kneeling besidehim and Caesar the Dalmatian curled up with much complacence at his feet. 

"How very comfy you look!" she remarked. 

And, "We are comfy, " said Piers, with a smile.