THESAFETY CURTAINAND OTHER STORIES

by

ETHEL M. DELL

AUTHOR OF:-

The Hundreth ChanceGreatheartThe Lamp in the DesertThe Tidal WaveThe Top of the WorldThe Obstacle RaceThe Way of an EagleThe Knave of DiamondsThe Rocks of ValpréThe SwindlerThe Keeper of the DoorBars of IronRosa MundiEtc. 

GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers

G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London

Made in the United States of America

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

CONTENTS

The Safety Curtain

The Experiment

Those Who Wait

The Eleventh Hour

The Place of Honour

The Safety Curtain

CHAPTER I

THE ESCAPE

A great shout of applause went through the crowded hall as theDragon-Fly Dance came to an end, and the Dragon-Fly, with quivering, iridescent wings, flashed away. 

It was the third encore. The dance was a marvellous one, a piece ofdazzling intricacy, of swift and unexpected subtleties, of almostsuperhuman grace. It must have proved utterly exhausting to any ordinarybeing; but to that creature of fire and magic it was no more than aglittering fantasy, a whirl too swift for the eye to follow or the brainto grasp. 

"Is it a boy or a girl?" asked a man in the front row. 

"It's a boy, of course, " said his neighbour, shortly. 

He was the only member of the audience who did not take part in thatthird encore. He sat squarely in his seat throughout the uproar, watching the stage with piercing grey eyes that never varied in theirstern directness. His brows were drawn above them--thick, straight browsthat bespoke a formidable strength of purpose. He was plainly a man whowas accustomed to hew his own way through life, despising the troddenpaths, overcoming all obstacles by grim persistence. 

Louder and louder swelled the tumult. It was evident that nothing but arepetition of the wonder-dance would content the audience. They yelledthemselves hoarse for it; and when, light as air, incredibly swift, thegreen Dragon-Fly darted back, they outdid themselves in the madness oftheir welcome. The noise seemed to shake the building. 

Only the man in the front row with the iron-grey eyes and iron-hardmouth made no movement or sound of any sort. He merely watched withunchanging intentness the face that gleamed, ashen-white, above theshimmering metallic green tights that clothed the dancer's slim body. 

The noise ceased as the wild tarantella proceeded. There fell a deephush, broken only by the silver notes of a flute played somewhere behindthe curtain. The dancer's movements were wholly without sound. Thequivering, whirling feet scarcely seemed to touch the floor, it was adance of inspiration, possessing a strange and irresistible fascination, a weird and meteoric rush, that held the onlookers with bated breath. 

It lasted for perhaps two minutes, that intense and trancelikestillness; then, like, a stone flung into glassy depths, a woman'sscream rudely shattered it, a piercing, terror-stricken scream thatbrought the rapt audience back to earth with a shock as the liquid musicof the flute suddenly ceased. 

"Fire!" cried the voice. "Fire! Fire!"

There was an instant of horrified inaction, and in that instant a tongueof flame shot like a fiery serpent through the closed curtains behindthe dancer. In a moment the cry was caught up and repeated in a dozendirections, and even as it went from mouth to mouth the safety-curtainbegan to descend. 

The dancer was forgotten, swept as it were from the minds of theaudience as an insect whose life was of no account. From the back of thestage came a roar like the roar of an open furnace. A great wave of heatrushed into the hall, and people turned like terrified, stampedinganimals and made for the exits. 

The Dragon-Fly still stood behind the footlights poised as if forflight, glancing this way and that, shimmering from head to foot in theawful glare that spread behind the descending curtain. It was evidentthat retreat behind the scenes was impossible, and in another moment ortwo that falling curtain would cut off the only way left. 

But suddenly, before the dancer's hunted eyes, a man leapt forward. Heheld up his arms, making himself heard in clear command above thedreadful babel behind him. 

"Quick!" he cried. "Jump!"

The wild eyes flashed down at him, wavered, and were caught in hiscompelling gaze. For a single instant--the last--the trembling, glittering figure seemed to hesitate, then like a streak of lightningleapt straight over the footlights into the outstretched arms. 

They caught and held with unwavering iron strength. In the midst of aturmoil indescribable the Dragon-Fly hung quivering on the man's breast, the gauze wings shattered in that close, sustaining grip. Thesafety-curtain came down with a thud, shutting off the horrors behind, and a loud voice yelled through the building assuring the seething crowdof safety. 

But panic had set in. The heat was terrific. People fought and struggledto reach the exits. 

The dancer turned in the man's arms and raised a deathly face, grippinghis shoulders with clinging, convulsive fingers. Two wild dark eyeslooked up to his, desperately afraid, seeking reassurance. 

He answered that look briefly with stern composure. 

"Be still! I shall save you if I can. "

The dancer's heart was beating in mad terror against his own, but at hiswords it seemed to grow a little calmer. Quiveringly the white lipsspoke. 

"There is a door--close to the stage--a little door--behind a greencurtain--if we could reach it. "

"Ah!" the man said. 

His eyes went to the stage, from the proximity of which the audience hadfled affrighted. He espied the curtain. 

Only a few people intervened between him and it, and they werestruggling to escape in the opposite direction. 

"Quick!" gasped the dancer. 

He turned, snatched up his great-coat, and wrapped it about the slight, boyish figure. The great dark eyes that shone out of the small whiteface thanked him for the action. The clinging hands slipped from hisshoulders and clasped his arm. Together they faced the fearful heat thatraged behind the safety-curtain. 

They reached the small door, gasping. It was almost hidden by greendrapery. But the dancer was evidently familiar with it. In a moment itwas open. A great burst of smoke met them. The man drew back. But aquick hand closed upon his, drawing him on. He went blindly, feeling asif he were stepping into the heart of a furnace, yet strangelydetermined to go forward whatever came of it. 

The smoke and the heat were frightful, suffocating in their intensity. The roar of the unseen flames seemed to fill the world. 

The door swung to behind them. They stood in seething darkness. 

But again the small clinging hand pulled upon the man. 

"Quick!" the dancer cried again. 

Choked and gasping, but resolute still, he followed. They ran through apassage that must have been on the very edge of the vortex of flame, forbehind them ere they left it a red light glared. 

It showed another door in front of them with which the dancer struggleda moment, then flung open. They burst through it together, and the coldnight wind met them like an angel of deliverance. 

The man gasped and gasped again, filling his parched lungs with itshealing freshness. His companion uttered a strange, high laugh, anddragged him forth into the open. 

They emerged into a narrow alley, surrounded by tall houses. The nightwas dark and wet. The rain pattered upon them as they staggered out intoa space that seemed deserted. The sudden quiet after the awful turmoilthey had just left was like the silence of death. 

The man stood still and wiped the sweat in a dazed fashion from hisface. The little dancer reeled back against the wall, pantingdesperately. 

For a space neither moved. Then, terribly, the silence was rent by acrash and the roar of flames. An awful redness leapt across the darknessof the night, revealing each to each. 

The dancer stood up suddenly and made an odd little gesture offarewell; then, swiftly, to the man's amazement, turned back towards thedoor through which they had burst but a few seconds before. 

He stared for a moment--only a moment--not believing he saw aright, thenwith a single stride he reached and roughly seized the small, oddly-draped figure. 

He heard a faint cry, and there ensued a sharp struggle against hishold; but he pinioned the thin young arms without ceremony, grippingthem fast. In the awful, flickering glare above them his eyes shonedownwards, dominant, relentless. 

"Are you mad?" he said. 

The small dark head was shaken vehemently, with gestures curiouslysuggestive of an imprisoned insect. It was as if wild wings flutteredagainst captivity. 

And then all in a moment the struggling ceased, and in a low, eagervoice the captive began to plead. 

"Please, please let me go! You don't know--you don't understand. Icame--because--because--you called. But I was wrong--I was wrong tocome. You couldn't keep me--you wouldn't keep me--against my will!"

"Do you want to die, then?" the man demanded. "Are you tired of life?"

His eyes still shone piercingly down, but they read but little, for thedancer's were firmly closed against them, even while the dark croppedhead nodded a strangely vigorous affirmative. 

"Yes, that is it! I am so tired--so tired of life! Don't keep me! Letme go--while I have the strength!" The little, white, sharp-featuredface, with its tight-shut eyes and childish, quivering mouth, waspainfully pathetic. "Death can't be more dreadful than life, " the lowvoice urged. "If I don't go back--I shall be so sorry afterwards. Whyshould one live--to suffer?"

It was piteously spoken, so piteously that for a moment the man seemedmoved to compassion. His hold relaxed; but when the little form betweenhis hands took swift advantage and strained afresh for freedom heinstantly tightened his grip. 

"No, No!" he said, harshly. "There are other things in life. You don'tknow what you are doing. You are not responsible. "

The dark eyes opened upon him then--wide, reproachful, mysteriouslyfar-seeing. "I shall not be responsible--if you make me live, " said theDragon-Fly, with the air of one risking a final desperate throw. 

It was almost an open challenge, and it was accepted instantly, withgrim decision. "Very well. The responsibility is mine, " the man saidbriefly. "Come with me!"

His arm encircled the narrow shoulders. He drew his young companionunresisting from the spot. They left the glare of the furnace behindthem, and threaded their way through dark and winding alleys back to thethrobbing life of the city thoroughfares, back into the whirl andstress of that human existence which both had nearly quitted--and onehad strenuously striven to quit--so short a time before. 

CHAPTER II

NOBODY'S BUSINESS

"My name is Merryon, " the man said, curtly. "I am a major in the IndianArmy--home on leave. Now tell me about yourself!"

He delivered the information in the brief, aggressive fashion thatseemed to be characteristic of him, and he looked over the head of hisyoung visitor as he did so, almost as if he made the statement againsthis will. 

The visitor, still clad in his great-coat, crouched like a dog on thehearthrug before the fire in Merryon's sitting-room, and gazed withwide, unblinking eyes into the flames. 

After a few moments Merryon's eyes descended to the dark head andsurveyed it critically. The collar of his coat was turned up all roundit. It was glistening with rain-drops and looked like the head of somesmall, furry animal. 

As if aware of that straight regard, the dancer presently spoke, withoutturning or moving an eyelid. 

"What you are doesn't matter to any one except yourself. And what I amdoesn't matter either. It's just--nobody's business. "

"I see, " said Merryon. 

A faint smile crossed his grim, hard-featured face. He sat down in a lowchair near his guest and drew to his side a small table that bore a trayof refreshments. He poured out a glass of wine and held it towards thequeer, elfin figure crouched upon his hearth. 

The dark eyes suddenly flashed from the fire to his face. "Why do youoffer me--that?" the dancer demanded, in a voice that was curiouslyvibrant, as though it strove to conceal some overwhelming emotion. "Whydon't you give me--a man's drink?"

"Because I think this will suit you better, " Merryon said; and he spokewith a gentleness that was oddly at variance with the frown that drewhis brows. 

The dark eyes stared up at him, scared and defiant, for the passage ofseveral seconds; then, very suddenly, the tension went out of the white, pinched face. It screwed up like the face of a hurt child, and all in amoment the little, huddled figure collapsed on the floor at his feet, while sobs--a woman's quivering piteous sobs--filled the silence of theroom. 

Merryon's own face was a curious mixture of pity and constraint as heset down the glass and stooped forward over the shaking, anguished form. 

"Look here, child!" he said, and whatever else was in his voice itcertainly held none of the hardness habitual to it. "You'reupset--unnerved. Don't cry so! Whatever you've been through, it's over. No one can make you go back. Do you understand? You're free!"

He laid his hand, with the clumsiness of one little accustomed toconsole, upon the bowed black head. 

"Don't!" he said again. "Don't cry so! What the devil does it matter?You're safe enough with me. I'm not the sort of bounder to give youaway. "

She drew a little nearer to him. "You--you're not a bounder--at all, "she assured him between her sobs. "You're just--a gentleman. That's whatyou are!"

"All right, " said Merryon. "Leave off crying!"

He spoke with the same species of awkward kindliness that characterizedhis actions, and there must have been something strangely comforting inhis speech, for the little dancer's tears ceased as abruptly as they hadbegun. She dashed a trembling hand across her eyes. 

"Who's crying?" she said. 

He uttered a brief, half-grudging laugh. "That's better. Now drink somewine! Yes, I insist! You must eat something, too. You lookhalf-starved. "

She accepted the wine, sitting in an acrobatic attitude on the floorfacing him. She drank it, and an odd sparkle of mischief shot up in hergreat eyes. She surveyed him with an impish expression--much as agrasshopper might survey a toad. 

"Are you married?" she inquired, unexpectedly. 

"No, " said Merryon, shortly. "Why?"

She gave a little laugh that had a catch in it. "I was only thinkingthat your wife wouldn't like me much. Women are so suspicious. "

Merryon turned aside, and began to pour out a drink for himself. Therewas something strangely elusive about this little creature whom Fortunehad flung to him. He wondered what he should do with her. Was she tooold for a foundling hospital?

"How old are you?" he asked, abruptly. 

She did not answer. 

He looked at her, frowning. 

"Don't!" she said. "It's ugly. I'm not quite forty. How old are you?"

"What?" said Merryon. 

"Not--quite--forty, " she said again, with extreme distinctness. "I'msmall for my age, I know. But I shall never grow any more now. How olddid you say you were?"

Merryon's eyes regarded her piercingly. "I should like the truth, " hesaid, in his short, grim way. 

She made a grimace that turned into an impish smile. "Then you muststick to the things that matter, " she said. "That is--nobody'sbusiness. "

He tried to look severe, but very curiously failed. He picked up a plateof sandwiches to mask a momentary confusion, and offered it to her. 

Again, with simplicity, she accepted, and there fell a silence betweenthem while she ate, her eyes again upon the fire. Her face, in repose, was the saddest thing he had ever seen. More than ever did she make himthink of a child that had been hurt. 

She finished her sandwich and sat for a while lost in thought. Merryonleaned back in his chair, watching her. The little, pointed featurespossessed no beauty, yet they had that which drew the attentionirresistibly. The delicate charm of her dancing was somehow expressed inevery line. There was fire, too, --a strange, bewitching fire, --behindthe thick black lashes. 

Very suddenly that fire was turned upon him again. With a swift, dartingmovement she knelt up in front of him, her clasped hands on his knees. 

"Why did you save me just now?" she said. "Why wouldn't you let me die?"

He looked full at her. She vibrated like a winged creature on the vergeof taking flight. But her eyes--her eyes sought his with a strangeassurance, as though they saw in him a comrade. 

"Why did you make me live when I wanted to die?" she insisted. "Is lifeso desirable? Have you found it so?"

His brows contracted at the last question, even while his mouth curvedcynically. "Some people find it so, " he said. 

"But you?" she said, and there was almost accusation in her voice, "Havethe gods been kind to you? Or have they thrown you the dregs--just thedregs?"

The passionate note in the words, subdued though it was, was not to bemistaken. It stirred him oddly, making him see her for the first time asa woman rather than as the fantastic being, half-elf, half-child, whomhe had wrested from the very jaws of Death against her will. He leanedslowly forward, marking the deep, deep shadows about her eyes, the vividred of her lips. 

"What do you know about the dregs?" he said. 

She beat her hands with a small, fierce movement on his knees, mutelyrefusing to answer. 

"Ah, well, " he said, "I don't know why I should answer either. But Iwill. Yes, I've had dregs--dregs--and nothing but dregs for the lastfifteen years. "

He spoke with a bitterness that he scarcely attempted to restrain, andthe girl at his feet nodded--a wise little feminine nod. 

"I knew you had. It comes harder to a man, doesn't it?"

"I don't know why it should, " said Merryon, moodily. 

"I do, " said the Dragon-Fly. "It's because men were made to bosscreation. See? You're one of the bosses, you are. You've been led toexpect a lot, and because you haven't had it you feel you've beencheated. Life is like that. It's just a thing that mocks at you. Iknow. "

She nodded again, and an odd, will-o'-the-wisp smile flitted over herface. 

"You seem to know--something of life, " the man said. 

She uttered a queer choking laugh. "Life is a big, big swindle, " shesaid. "The only happy people in the world are those who haven't found itout. But you--you say there are other things in life besides suffering. How did you know that if--if you've never had anything but dregs?"

"Ah!" Merryon said. "You have me there. "

He was still looking full into those shadowy eyes with a curious, dawning fellowship in his own. 

"You have me there, " he repeated. "But I do know. I was happy enoughonce, till--" He stopped. 

"Things went wrong?" insinuated the Dragon-Fly, sitting down on herheels in a childish attitude of attention. 

"Yes, " Merryon admitted, in his sullen fashion. "Things went wrong. Ifound I was the son of a thief. He's dead now, thank Heaven. But hedragged me under first. I've been at odds with life ever since. "

"But a man can start again, " said the Dragon-Fly, with her air ofworldly wisdom. 

"Oh, yes, I did that. " Merryon's smile was one of exceeding bitterness. "I enlisted and went to South Africa. I hoped for death, and I won acommission instead. "

The girl's eyes shone with interest. "But that was luck!" she said. 

"Oh, yes; it was luck of a sort--the damnable, unsatisfactory sort. Ientered the Indian Army, and I've got on. But socially I'm practicallyan outcast. They're polite to me, but they leave me outside. The man whorose from the ranks--the fellow with a shady past--fought shy of by thewomen, just tolerated by the men, covertly despised by theyoungsters--that's the sort of person I am. It galled me once. I'm usedto it now. "

Merryon's grim voice went into grimmer silence. He was staring sombrelyinto the fire, almost as if he had forgotten his companion. 

There fell a pause; then, "You poor dear!" said the Dragon-Fly, sympathetically. "But I expect you are like that, you know. I expectit's a bit your own fault. "

He looked at her in surprise. 

"No, I'm not meaning anything nasty, " she assured him, with that quicksmile of hers whose sweetness he was just beginning to realize. "Butafter a bad knockout like yours a man naturally looks for trouble. Hegets suspicious, and a snub or two does the rest. He isn't taking anymore. It's a pity you're not married. A woman would have known how tohold her own, and a bit over--for you. "

"I wouldn't ask any woman to share the life I lead, " said Merryon, withbitter emphasis. "Not that any woman would if I did. I'm not a ladies'man. "

She laughed for the first time, and he started at the sound, for it wasone of pure, girlish merriment. 

"My! You are modest!" she said. "And yet you don't look it, somehow. "She turned her right-hand palm upwards on his knee, tacitly invitinghis. "You're a good one to talk of life being worth while, aren't you?"she said. 

He accepted the frank invitation, faintly smiling. "Well, I know thegood things are there, " he said, "though I've missed them. "

"You'll marry and be happy yet, " she said, with confidence. "But Ishouldn't put it off too long if I were you. "

He shook his head. His hand still half-consciously grasped hers. "Ask awoman to marry the son of one of the most famous swindlers ever known? Ithink not, " he said. "Why, even you--" His eyes regarded her, comprehended her. He stopped abruptly. 

"What about me?" she said. 

He hesitated, possessed by an odd embarrassment. The dark eyes werelifted quite openly to his. It came to him that they were accustomed tothe stare of multitudes--they met his look so serenely, so impenetrably. 

"I don't know how we got on to the subject of my affairs, " he said, after a moment. "It seems to me that yours are the most important justnow. Aren't you going to tell me anything about them?"

She gave a small, emphatic shake of the head. "I should have been deadby this time if you hadn't interfered, " she said. "I haven't got anyaffairs. "

"Then it's up to me to look after you, " Merryon said, quietly. 

But she shook her head at that more vigorously still. "You look afterme!" Her voice trembled on a note of derision. "Sure, you're joking!"she protested. "I've looked after myself ever since I was eight. "

"And made a success of it?" Merryon asked. 

Her eyes shot swift defiance. "That's nobody's business but my own, " shesaid. "You know what I think of life. "

Merryon's hand closed slowly upon hers. "There seems to be a pair ofus, " he said. "You can't refuse to let me help you--for fellowship'ssake. "

The red lips trembled suddenly. The dark eyes fell before his for thefirst time. She spoke almost under her breath. "I'm too old--to takehelp from a man--like that. "

He bent slightly towards her. "What has age to do with it?"

"Everything. " Her eyes remained downcast; the hand he held was tryingto wriggle free, but he would not suffer it. 

"Circumstances alter cases, " he said. "I accepted the responsibilitywhen I saved you. "

"But you haven't the least idea what to do with me, " said theDragon-Fly, with a forlorn smile. "You ought to have thought of that. You'll be going back to India soon. And I--and I--" She stopped, stillstubbornly refusing to meet the man's eyes. 

"I am going back next week, " Merryon said. 

"How fine to be you!" said the Dragon-Fly. "You wouldn't like to take mewith you now as--as _valet de chambre_?"

He raised his brows momentarily. Then: "Would you come?" he asked, witha certain roughness, as though he suspected her of trifling. 

She raised her eyes suddenly, kindled and eager. "Would I come!" shesaid, in a tone that said more than words. 

"You would?" he said, and laid an abrupt hand on her shoulder. "Youwould, eh?"

She knelt up swiftly, the coat that enveloped her falling back, displaying the slim, boyish figure, the active, supple limbs. Herbreathing came through parted lips. 

"As your--your servant--your valet?" she panted. 

His rough brows drew together. "My what? Good heavens, no! I could onlytake you in one capacity. "

She started back from his hand. For a moment sheer horror looked outfrom her eyes. Then, almost in the same instant, they were veiled. Shecaught her breath, saying no word, only dumbly waiting. 

"I could only take you as my wife, " he said, still in thathalf-bantering, half-embarrassed fashion of his. "Will you come?"

She threw back her head and stared at him. "Marry you! What, really?Really?" she questioned, breathlessly. 

"Merely for appearances' sake, " said Merryon, with grim irony. "Theregimental morals are somewhat easily offended, and an outsider likemyself can't be too careful. "

The girl was still staring at him, as though at some novel specimen ofhumanity that had never before crossed her path. Suddenly she leanedtowards him, looking him full and straight in the eyes. 

"What would you do if I said 'Yes'?" she questioned, in a small, tensewhisper. 

He looked back at her, half-interested, half amused. "Do, urchin? Why, marry you!" he said. 

"Really marry me?" she urged. "Not make-believe?"

He stiffened at that. "Do you know what you're saying?" he demanded, sternly. 

She sprang to her feet with a wild, startled movement; then, as heremained seated, paused, looking down at him sideways, half-doubtful, half-confiding. "But you can't be in earnest!" she said. 

"I am in earnest. " He raised his face to her with a certain doggedness, as though challenging her to detect in it aught but honesty. "I may beseveral kinds of a fool, " he said, "but I am in earnest. I'm no greatcatch, but I'll marry you if you'll have me. I'll protect you, and I'llbe good to you. I can't promise to make you happy, of course, but--anyway, I shan't make you miserable. "

"But--but--" She still stood before him as though hovering on the edgeof flight. Her lips were trembling, her whole form quivering andscintillating in the lamplight. She halted on the words as if uncertainhow to proceed. 

"What is it?" said Merryon. 

And then, quite suddenly, his mood softened. He leaned slowly forward. 

"You needn't be afraid of me, " he said. "I'm not a heady youngster. Ishan't gobble you up. "

She laughed at that--a quick, nervous laugh. "And you won't beat meeither? Promise!"

He frowned at her. "Beat you! I?"

She nodded several times, faintly smiling. "Yes, you, Mr. Monster! I'msure you could. "

He smiled also, somewhat grimly. "You're wrong, madam. I couldn't beat achild. "

"Oh, my!" she said, and threw up her arms with a quivering laugh, dropping his coat in a heap on the floor. "How old do you think thischild is?" she questioned, glancing down at him in her sidelong, speculative fashion. 

He looked at her hard and straight, looked at the slim young body in itssheath of iridescent green that shimmered with every breath she drew, and very suddenly he rose. 

She made a spring backwards, but she was too late. He caught and heldher. 

"Let me go!" she cried, her face crimson. 

"But why?" Merryon's voice fell curt and direct. He held her firmly bythe shoulders. 

She struggled against him fiercely for a moment, then became suddenlystill. "You're not a brute, are you?" she questioned, breathlessly. "You--you'll be good to me? You said so!"

He surveyed her grimly. "Yes, I will be good to you, " he said. "But I'mnot going to be fooled. Understand? If you marry me, you must play thepart. I don't know how old you are. I don't greatly care. All I do careabout is that you behave yourself as the wife of a man in my positionshould. You're old enough to know what that means, I suppose?"

He spoke impressively, but the effect of his words was not quite what heexpected. The point of a very red tongue came suddenly from between thered lips, and instantly disappeared. 

"That all?" she said. "Oh yes; I think I can do that. I'll try, anyway. And if you're not satisfied--well, you'll have to let me know. See?

Now let me go, there's a good man! I don't like the feel of yourhands. "

He let her go in answer to the pleading of her eyes, and she slippedfrom his grasp like an eel, caught up the coat at her feet, and wriggledinto it. 

Then, impishly, she faced him, buttoning it with nimble fingers thewhile. "This is the garment of respectability, " she declared. "It isn'tmuch of a fit, is it? But I shall grow to it in time. Do you know, Ibelieve I'm going to like being your wife?"

"Why?" said Merryon. 

She laughed--that laugh of irrepressible gaiety that had surprised himbefore. 

"Oh, just because I shall so love fighting your battles for you, " shesaid. "It'll be grand sport. "

"Think so?" said Merryon. 

"Oh, you bet!" said the Dragon-Fly, with gay confidence. "Men never knowhow to fight. They're poor things--men!"

He himself laughed at that--his grim, grudging laugh. "It's a world offools, Puck, " he said. 

"Or knaves, " said the Dragon-Fly, wisely. And with that she stretched upher arms above her head and laughed again. "Now I know what it feelslike, " she said, "to have risen from the dead. "

CHAPTER III

COMRADES

There came the flash of green wings in the cypresses and a raucousscream of jubilation as the boldest parakeet in the compound flew offwith the choicest sweetmeat on the tiffin-table in the veranda. Therewere always sweets at tiffin in the major's bungalow. Mrs. Merryon lovedsweets. She was wont to say that they were the best remedy forhomesickness she knew. 

Not that she ever was homesick. At least, no one ever suspected such apossibility, for she had a smile and a quip for all, and her laughterwas the gayest in the station. She ran out now, half-dressed, from herbedroom, waving a towel at the marauder. 

"That comes of being kind-hearted, " she declared, in the deep voice thataccorded so curiously with the frothy lightness of her personality. "Everyone takes advantage of it, sure. "

Her eyes were grey and Irish, and they flashed over the scenedramatically, albeit there was no one to see and admire. For she wasstrangely captivating, and perhaps it was hardly to be expected thatshe should be quite unconscious of the fact. 

"Much too taking to be good, dear, " had been the verdict of theCommissioner's wife when she had first seen little Puck Merryon, themajor's bride. 

But then the Commissioner's wife, Mrs. Paget, was so severely plain inevery way that perhaps she could scarcely be regarded as an impartialjudge. She had never flirted with any one, and could not know the joysthereof. 

Young Mrs. Merryon, on the other hand, flirted quite openly and verysweetly with every man she met. It was obviously her nature so to do. She had doubtless done it from her cradle, and would probably continuethe practice to her grave. 

"A born wheedler, " the colonel called her; but his wife thought "saucyminx" a more appropriate term, and wondered how Major Merryon could putup with her shameless trifling. 

As a matter of fact, Merryon wondered himself sometimes; for she flirtedwith him more than all in that charming, provocative way of hers, coaxedhim, laughed at him, brilliantly eluded him. She would perch daintily onthe arm of his chair when he was busy, but if he so much as laid a handupon her she was gone in a flash like a whirling insect, not to returntill he was too absorbed to pay any attention to her. And often as thosedaring red lips mocked him, they were never offered to his even injest. Yet was she so finished a coquette that the omission was neverobvious. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that she shouldevade all approach to intimacy. They were comrades--just comrades. 

Everyone in the station wanted to know Merryon's bride. People had begunby being distant, but that phase was long past. Puck Merryon had stormedthe citadel within a fortnight of her arrival, no one quite knew how. Everyone knew her now. She went everywhere, though never without herhusband, who found himself dragged into gaieties for which he had scantliking, and sought after by people who had never seemed aware of himbefore. She had, in short, become the rage, and so gaily did she revelin her triumph that he could not bring himself to deny her the fruitsthereof. 

On that particular morning in March he had gone to an early paradewithout seeing her, for there had been a regimental ball the nightbefore, and she had danced every dance. Dancing seemed her one passion, and to Merryon, who did not dance, the ball had been an unmitigatedweariness. He had at last, in sheer boredom, joined a party ofbridge-players, with the result that he had not seen much of his youngwife throughout the evening. 

Returning from the parade-ground, he wondered if he would find her up, and then caught sight of her waving away the marauders in scanty attireon the veranda. 

He called a greeting to her, and she instantly vanished into her room. He made his way to the table set in the shade of the cluster-roses, andsat down to await her. 

She remained invisible, but her voice at once accosted him. "Good-morning, Billikins! Tell the _khit_ you're ready! I shall be outin two shakes. "

None but she would have dreamed of bestowing so frivolous an appellationupon the sober Merryon. But from her it came so naturally that Merryonscarcely noticed it. He had been "Billikins" to her throughout the briefthree months that had elapsed since their marriage. Of course, Mrs. Paget disapproved, but then Mrs. Paget was Mrs. Paget. She disapprovedof everything young and gay. 

Merryon gave the required order, and then sat in stolid patience toawait his wife's coming. She did not keep him long. Very soon she camelightly out and joined him, an impudent smile on her sallow little face, dancing merriment in her eyes. 

"Oh, poor old Billikins!" she said, commiseratingly. "You were boredlast night, weren't you? I wonder if I could teach you to dance. "

"I wonder, " said Merryon. 

His eyes dwelt upon her in her fresh white muslin. What a child shelooked! Not pretty--no, not pretty; but what a magic smile she had!

She sat down at the table facing him, and leaned her elbows upon it. "Iwonder if I could!" she said again, and then broke into her suddenlaugh. 

"What's the joke?" asked Merryon. 

"Oh, nothing!" she said, recovering herself. "It suddenly came over me, that's all--poor old Mother Paget's face, supposing she had seen me lastnight. "

"Didn't she see you last night? I thought you were more or less in thepublic eye, " said Merryon. 

"Oh, I meant after the dance, " she explained. "I felt sort of wound upand excited after I got back. And I wanted to see if I could still doit. I'm glad to say I can, " she ended, with another little laugh. 

Her dark eyes shot him a tentative glance. "Can what?" asked Merryon. 

"You'll be shocked if I tell you. "

"What was it?" he said. 

There was insistence in his tone--the insistence by which he had oncecompelled her to live against her will. Her eyelids fluttered a littleas it reached her, but she cocked her small, pointed chinnotwithstanding. 

"Why should I tell you if I don't want to?" she demanded. 

"Why shouldn't you want to?" he said. 

The tip of her tongue shot out and in again. "Well, you never took mefor a lady, did you?" she said, half-defiantly. 

"What was it?" repeated Merryon, sticking to the point. 

Again she grimaced at him, but she answered, "Oh, I only--after I'd hadmy bath--lay on the floor and ran round my head for a bit. It's not abit difficult, once you've got the knack. But I got thinking of Mrs. Paget--she does amuse me, that woman. Only yesterday she asked me whatPuck was short for, and I told her Elizabeth--and then I got laughing sothat I had to stop. "

Her face was flushed, and she was slightly breathless as she ended, butshe stared across the table with brazen determination, like a naughtychild expecting a slap. 

Merryon's face, however, betrayed neither astonishment nor disapproval. He even smiled a little as he said, "Perhaps you would like to give melessons in that also? I've often wondered how it was done. "

She smiled back at him with instant and obvious relief. 

"No, I shan't do it again. It's not proper. But I will teach you todance. I'd sooner dance with you than any of 'em. "

It was naïvely spoken, so naïvely that Merryon's faint smile turned intosomething that was almost genial. What a youngster she was! Herfreshness was a perpetual source of wonder to him when he rememberedwhence she had come to him. 

"I am quite willing to be taught, " he said. "But it must be in strictprivacy. "

She nodded gaily. 

"Of course. You shall have a lesson to-night--when we get back from theBurtons' dinner. I'm real sorry you were bored, Billikins. You shan't beagain. "

That was her attitude always, half-maternal, half-quizzing, as ifsomething about him amused her; yet always anxious to please him, alwaysready to set his wishes before her own, so long as he did not attempt totreat her seriously. She had left all that was serious in that otherlife that had ended with the fall of the safety-curtain on a certainnight in England many ĉons ago. Her personality now was light asgossamer, irresponsible as thistledown. The deeper things of life passedher by. She seemed wholly unaware of them. 

"You'll be quite an accomplished dancer by the time everyone comes backfrom the Hills, " she remarked, balancing a fork on one slender brownfinger. "We'll have a ball for two--every night. "

"We!" said Merryon. 

She glanced at him. 

"I said 'we. '"

"I know you did. " The man's voice had suddenly a dogged ring; he lookedacross at the vivid, piquant face with the suggestion of a frown betweenhis eyes. 

"Don't do that!" she said, lightly. "Never do that, Billikins! It'smost unbecoming behaviour. What's the matter?"

"The matter?" he said, slowly. "The matter is that you are going to theHills for the hot weather with the rest of the women, Puck. I can't keepyou here. "

She made a rude face at him. 

"Preserve me from any cattery in the Hills!" she said. "I'm going tostay with you. "

"You can't, " said Merryon. 

"I can, " she said. 

He frowned still more. 

"Not if I say otherwise, Puck. "

She snapped her fingers at him and laughed. 

"I am in earnest, " Merryon said. "I can't keep you here for the hotweather. It would probably kill you. "

"What of that?" she said. 

He ignored her frivolity. 

"It can't be done, " he said. "So you must make the best of it. "

"Meaning you don't want me?" she demanded, unexpectedly. 

"Not for the hot weather, " said Merryon. 

She sprang suddenly to her feet. 

"I won't go, Billikins!" she declared, fiercely, "I just won't!"

He looked at her, sternly resolute. 

"You must go, " he said, with unwavering decision. 

"You're tired of me! Is that it?" she demanded. 

He raised his brows. "You haven't given me much opportunity to be that, have you?" he said. 

A great wave of colour went over her face. She put up her hand as thoughinstinctively to shield it. 

"I've done my best to--to--to--" She stopped, became piteously silent, and suddenly he saw that she was crying behind the sheltering hand. 

He softened almost in spite of himself. 

"Come here, Puck!" he said. 

She shook her head dumbly. 

"Come here!" he repeated. 

She came towards him slowly, as if against her will. He reached forward, still seated, and drew her to him. 

She trembled at his touch, trembled and started away, yet in the end sheyielded. 

"Please, " she whispered; "please!"

He put his arm round her very gently, yet with determination, making herstand beside him. 

"Why don't you want to go to the Hills?" he said. 

"I'd be frightened, " she murmured. 

"Frightened? Why?"

"I don't know, " she said, vaguely. 

"Yes, but you do know. You must know. 

Tell me. " He spoke gently, but the stubborn note was in his voice andhis hold was insistent. "Leave off crying and tell me!"

"I'm not crying, " said Puck. 

She uncovered her face and looked down at him through tears with afaintly mischievous smile. 

"Tell me!" he reiterated. "Is it because you don't like the idea ofleaving me?"

Her smile flashed full out upon him on the instant. 

"Goodness, no! Whatever made you think that?" she demanded, briskly. 

He was momentarily disconcerted, but he recovered himself at once. 

"Then what is your objection to going?" he asked. 

She turned and sat down conversationally on the corner of the table. 

"Well, you know, Billikins, it's like this. When I married you--I did itout of pity. See? I was sorry for you. You seemed such a poor, helplesssort of creature. And I thought being married to me might help toimprove your position a bit. You see my point, Billikins?"

"Oh, quite, " he said. "Please go on!"

She went on, with butterfly gaiety. 

"I worked hard--really hard--to get you out of your bog. It was a horriddeep one, wasn't it, Billikins? My! You were floundering! But I'vepulled you out of it and dragged you up the bank a bit. You don't getsniffed at anything like you used, do you, Billikins? But I daren'tleave you yet--I honestly daren't. You'd slip right back again directlymy back was turned. And I should have the pleasure of starting thebusiness all over again. I couldn't face it, my dear. It would be toodisheartening. "

"I see, " said Merryon. There was just the suspicion of a smile among therugged lines of his face. "Yes, I see your point. But I can show youanother if you'll listen. "

He was holding her two hands as she sat, as though he feared an attemptto escape. For though Puck sat quite still, it was with the stillness ofa trapped creature that waits upon opportunity. 

"Will you listen?" he said. 

She nodded. 

It was not an encouraging nod, but he proceeded. 

"All the women go to the Hills for the hot weather. It's unspeakablehere. No white woman could stand it. And we men get leave by turns tojoin them. There is nothing doing down here, no social round whatever. It's just stark duty. I can't lose much social status that way. It willserve my turn much better if you go up with the other women and continueto hold your own there. Not that I care a rap, " he added, with masculinetactlessness. "I am no longer susceptible to snubs. "

"Then I shan't go, " she said at once, beginning to swing a restlessfoot. 

"Yes, but you will go, " he said. "I wish it. "

"You want to get rid of me, " said Puck, looking over his head with theeyes of a troubled child. 

Merryon was silent. He was watching her with a kind of speculativecuriosity. His hands were still locked upon hers. 

Slowly her eyes came down to his. 

"Billikins, " she said, "let me stay down for a little!" Her lips werequivering. She kicked his chair agitatedly. "I don't want to go, " shesaid, dismally. "Let me stay--anyhow--till I get ill!"

"No, " Merryon said. "It can't be done, child. I can't risk that. Besides, there'd be no one to look after you. "

She slipped to her feet in a flare of indignation. "You're a pig, Billikins! You're a pig!" she cried, and tore her hands free. "I've agood mind to run away from you and never come back. It's what youdeserve, and what you'll get, if you aren't careful!"

She was gone with the words--gone like a flashing insect disturbing thesilence for a moment, and leaving a deeper silence behind. 

Merryon looked after her for a second or two, and then philosophicallycontinued his meal. But the slight frown remained between his brows. Theveranda seemed empty and colourless now that she was gone. 

CHAPTER IV

FRIENDS

The Burtons' dinner-party was a very cheerful affair. The Burtons wereyoung and newly married, and they liked to gather round them all theyouth and gaiety of the station. It was for that reason that Puck'spresence had been secured, for she was the life of every gathering; andher husband had been included in the invitation simply and solelybecause from the very outset she had refused to go anywhere without him. It was the only item of her behaviour of which worthy Mrs. Paget couldconscientiously approve. 

As a matter of fact Merryon had not the smallest desire to go, but hewould not say so; and all through the evening he sat and watched hisyoung wife with a curious hunger at his heart. He hated to think that hehad hurt her. 

There was no sign of depression about Puck, however, and he alonenoticed that she never once glanced in his direction. She kept everyoneup to a pitch of frivolity that certainly none would have attainedwithout her, and an odd feeling began to stir in Merryon, a sensation ofjealousy such as he had never before experienced. They seemed toforget, all of them, that this flashing, brilliant creature was his. 

She seemed to have forgotten it also. Or was it only that deep-seated, inimitable coquetry of hers that prompted her thus to ignore him?

He could not decide; but throughout the evening the determination grewin him to make this one point clear to her. Trifle as she might, shemust be made to understand that she belonged to him, and him alone. Comrades they might be, but he held a vested right in her, whether hechose to assert it or not. 

They returned at length to their little gimcrack bungalow--theMatch-box, as Puck called it--on foot under a blaze of stars. Thedistance was not great, and Puck despised rickshaws. 

She flitted by his side in her airy way, chatting inconsequently, nottroubling about response, as elusive as a fairy and--the man felt it inthe rising fever of his veins--as maddeningly attractive. 

They reached the bungalow. She went up the steps to the rose-twinedveranda as though she floated on wings of gossamer. "The roses are allasleep, Billikins, " she said. "They look like alabaster, don't they?"

She caught a cluster to her and held it against her cheek for a moment. 

Merryon was close behind her. She seemed to realize his nearness quitesuddenly, for she let the flowers go abruptly and flitted on. 

He followed her till, at the farther end of the veranda, she turned andfaced him. "Good-night, Billikins, " she said, lightly. 

"What about that dancing-lesson?" he said. 

She threw up her arms above her head with a curious gesture. Theygleamed transparently white in the starlight. Her eyes shone likefire-flies. 

"I thought you preferred dancing by yourself, " she retorted. 

"Why?" he said. 

She laughed a soft, provocative laugh, and suddenly, without anywarning, the cloak had fallen from her shoulders and she was dancing. There in the starlight, white-robed and wonderful, she danced as, itseemed to the man's fascinated senses, no human had ever danced before. She was like a white flame--a darting, fiery essence, soundless, all-absorbing, all-entrancing. 

He watched her with pent breath, bound by the magic of her, caught, asit were, into the innermost circle of her being, burning in answer toher fire, yet so curiously enthralled as to be scarcely aware of theever-mounting, ever-spreading heat. She was like a mocking spirit, awill-o'-the-wisp, luring him, luring him--whither?

The dance quickened, became a passionate whirl, so that suddenly heseemed to see a bright-winged insect caught in an endless web andbattling for freedom. He almost saw the silvery strands of that webfloating like gossamer in the starlight. 

And then, with well-nigh miraculous suddenness, the struggle was overand the insect had darted free. He saw her flash away, and found theveranda empty. 

Her cloak lay at his feet. He stooped with an odd sense of giddiness andpicked it up. A fragrance of roses came to him with the touch of it, andfor an instant he caught it up to his face. The sweetness seemed tointoxicate him. 

There came a light, inconsequent laugh; sharply he turned. She hadopened the window of his smoking-den and was standing in the entrancewith impudent merriment in her eyes. There was triumph also in herpose--a triumph that sent a swirl of hot passion through him. He flungaside the cloak and strode towards her. 

But she was gone on the instant, gone with a tinkle of maddeninglaughter. He blundered into the darkness of an empty room. But he wasnot the man to suffer defeat tamely. Momentarily baffled, he paused tolight a lamp; then went from room to room of the little bungalow, locking each door that she might not elude him a second time. His bloodwas on fire, and he meant to find her. 

In the end he came upon her wholly unexpectedly, standing on the verandaamongst the twining roses. She seemed to be awaiting him, though shemade no movement towards him as he approached. 

"Good-night, Billikins, " she said, her voice very small and humble. 

He came to her without haste, realizing that she had given the gameinto his hands. She did not shrink from him, but she raised an appealingface. And oddly the man's heart smote him. She looked so patheticallysmall and childish standing there. 

But the blood was still running fiercely in his veins, and thatmomentary twinge did not cool him. Child she might be, but she hadplayed with fire, and she alone was responsible for the conflagrationthat she had started. 

He drew near to her; he took her, unresisting, into his arms. 

She cowered down, hiding her face away from him. "Don't, Billikins!Please--please, Billikins!" she begged, incoherently. "You promised--youpromised--"

"What did I promise?" he said. 

"That you wouldn't--wouldn't"--she spoke breathlessly, for his hold wastightening upon her--"gobble me up, " she ended, with a painful littlelaugh. 

"I see. " Merryon's voice was deep and low. "And you meantime are atliberty to play any fool game you like with me. Is that it?"

She was quivering from head to foot. She did not lift her face. "Itwasn't--a fool game, " she protested. "I did it because--because--youwere so horrid this morning, so--so cold-blooded. And I--and I--wantedto see if--I could make you care. "

"Make me care!" Merryon said the words over oddly to himself; and then, still fast holding her, he began to feel for the face that was sostrenuously hidden from him. 

She resisted him desperately. "Let me go!" she begged, piteously. "I'llbe so good, Billikins. I'll go to the Hills. I'll do anything you like. Only let me go now! Billikins!"

She cried out sharply, for he had overcome her resistance by quietforce, had turned her white face up to his own. 

"I am not cold-blooded to-night, Puck, " he said. "Whatever youare--child or woman--gutter-snipe or angel--you are mine, all mine. And--I want you!"

The deep note vibrated in his voice; he stooped over her. 

But she flung herself back over his arm, striving desperately to avoidhim. "No--no--no!" she cried, wildly. "You mustn't, Billikins! Don'tkiss me! Don't kiss me!"

She threw up a desperate hand, covering his mouth. "Don't--oh, don't!"she entreated, brokenly. 

But the fire she had kindled she was powerless to quench. He would notbe frustrated. He caught her hand away. He held her to his heart. Hekissed the red lips hotly, with the savage freedom of a nature longrestrained. 

"Who has a greater right?" he said, with fiery exultation. 

She did not answer him. But at the first touch of his lips upon her ownshe resisted no longer, only broke into agonized tears. 

And suddenly Merryon came to himself--was furiously, overwhelminglyashamed. 

"God forgive me!" he said, and let her go. 

She tottered a little, covering her face with her hands, sobbing like ahurt child. But she did not try to run away. 

He flung round upon his heel and paced the veranda in fierce discomfort. Beast that he was--brute beast to have hurt her so! That piteous sobbingwas more than he could bear. 

Suddenly he turned back to her, came and stood beside her. "Puck--Puck, child!" he said. 

His voice was soft and very urgent. He touched the bent, dark head witha hesitating caress. 

She started away from him with a gasp of dismay; but he checked her. 

"No, don't!" he said. "It's all right, dear. I'm not such a brute as Iseem. Don't be afraid of me!"

There was more of pleading in his voice than he knew. She raised herhead suddenly, and looked at him as if puzzled. 

He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed her wet cheeks with clumsytenderness. "It's all right, " he said again. "Don't cry! I hate to seeyou cry. "

She gazed at him, still doubtful, still sobbing a little. "Oh, Billikins!" she said, tremulously, "why did you?"

"I don't know, " he said. "I was mad. It was your own fault, in a way. You don't seem to realize that I'm as human as the rest of the world. But I don't defend myself. I was an infernal brute to let myself go likethat. "

"Oh, no, you weren't, Billikins!" Quite unexpectedly she answered him. "You couldn't help it. Men are like that. And I'm glad you're human. But--but"--she faltered a little--"I want to feel that you're safe, too. I've always felt--ever since I jumped into your arms that night--thatyou--that you were on the right side of the safety-curtain. You are, aren't you? Oh, please say you are! But I know you are. " She held outher hands to him with a quivering gesture of confidence. "If you'llforgive me for--for fooling you, " she said, "I'll forgive you--for beingfooled. That's a fair offer, isn't it? Don't let's think any more aboutit!" Her rainbow smile transformed her face, but her eyes sought hisanxiously. 

He took the hands, but he did not attempt to draw her nearer. "Puck!" hesaid. 

"What is it?" she whispered, trembling. 

"Don't!" he said. "I won't hurt you. I wouldn't hurt a hair of yourhead. But, child, wouldn't it be safer--easier for both of us--if--if welived together, instead of apart?"

He spoke almost under his breath. There was no hint of mastery abouthim at that moment, only a gentleness that pleaded with her as with afrightened child. 

And Puck went nearer to him on the instant, as it were instinctively, almost involuntarily. "P'r'aps some day, Billikins!" she said, with alittle, quivering laugh. "But not yet--not if I've got to go to theHills away from you. "

"When I follow you to the Hills, then, " he said. 

She freed one hand and, reaching up, lightly stroked his cheek. "P'r'aps, Billikins!" she said again. "But--you'll have to be awfullypatient with me, because--because--" She paused, agitatedly; then wentyet a little nearer to him. "You will be kind to me, won't you?" shepleaded. 

He put his arm about her. "Always, dear, " he said. 

She raised her face. She was still trembling, but her action was one ofresolute confidence. "Then let's be friends, Billikins!" she said. 

It was a tacit invitation. He bent and gravely kissed her. 

Her lips returned his kiss shyly, quiveringly. "You're the nicest man Iever met, Billikins, " she said. "Good-night!"

She slipped from his encircling arm and was gone. 

The man stood motionless where she had left him, wondering at himself, at her, at the whole rocking universe. She had kindled the Magic Firein him indeed! His whole being was aglow. And yet--and yet--she had hadher way with him. He had let her go. 

Wherefore? Wherefore? The hot blood dinned in his ears. His handsclenched. And from very deep within him the answer came. Because heloved her. 

CHAPTER V

THE WOMAN

Summer in the Plains! Pitiless, burning summer!

All day a blinding blaze of sun beat upon the wooden roof, forced a waythrough the shaded windows, lay like a blasting spell upon the parchedcompound. The cluster-roses had shrivelled and died long since. Theirbrown leaves still clung to the veranda and rattled desolately with adry, scaly sound in the burning wind of dawn. 

The green parakeets had ceased to look for sweets on the veranda. Nothing dainty ever made its appearance there. The Englishman who cameand went with such grim endurance offered them no temptations. 

Sometimes he spent the night on a _charpoy_ on the veranda, lyingmotionless, though often sleepless, through the breathless, dragginghours. There had been sickness among the officers and Merryon, who wasnever sick, was doing the work of three men. He did it doggedly, withthe stubborn determination characteristic of him; not cheerfully--no oneever accused Merryon of being cheerful--but efficiently anduncomplainingly. Other men cursed the heat, but he never took thetrouble. He needed all his energies for what he had to do. 

His own chance of leave had become very remote. There was so much sickleave that he could not be spared. Over that, also, he made nocomplaint. It was useless to grumble at the inevitable. There was not aman in the mess who could not be spared more easily than he. 

For he was indomitable, unfailing, always fulfilling his duties withmachine-like regularity, stern, impenetrable, hard as granite. 

As to what lay behind that hardness, no one ever troubled to inquire. They took him for granted, much as if he had been a well-oiled engineguaranteed to surmount all obstacles. How he did it was nobody'sbusiness but his own. If he suffered in that appalling heat as other mensuffered, no one knew of it. If he grew a little grimmer and a littlegaunter, no one noticed. Everyone knew that whatever happened to others, he at least would hold on. Everyone described him as "hard as nails. "

Each day seemed more intolerable than the last, each night a perceptiblenarrowing of the fiery circle in which they lived. They seemed to bedrawing towards a culminating horror that grew hourly more palpable, more monstrously menacing--a horror that drained their strength evenfrom afar. 

"It's going to kill us this time, " declared little Robey, the youngestsubaltern, to whom the nights were a torment unspeakable. He had beenwithin an ace of heat apoplexy more than once, and his nerves werestretched almost to breaking-point. 

But Merryon went doggedly on, hewing his unswerving way through all. Themonsoon was drawing near, and the whole tortured earth seemed to bewaiting in dumb expectation. 

Night after night a glassy moon came up, shining, immense and awful, through a thick haze of heat. Night after night Merryon lay on hisveranda, smoking his pipe in stark endurance while the dreadful hourscrept by. Sometimes he held a letter from his wife hard clenched in onepowerful hand. She wrote to him frequently--short, airy epistles, whollyinconsequent, often provocatively meagre. 

"There is a Captain Silvester here, " she wrote once; "such a bounder. But he is literally the only man who can dance in the station. So whatwould you? Poor Mrs. Paget is so shocked!"

Feathery hints of this description were by no means unusual, but thoughMerryon sometimes frowned over them, they did not make him uneasy. Hiswill-o'-the-wisp might beckon, but she would never allow herself to becaught. She never spoke of love in her letters, always ending demurely, "Yours sincerely, Puck. " But now and then there was a small crossscratched impulsively underneath the name, and the letters that borethis token accompanied Merryon through his inferno whithersoever hewent. 

There came at last a night of terrible heat, when it seemed as if theworld itself must burst into flames. A heavy storm rolled up, roaredoverhead for a space like a caged monster, and sullenly rolled away, without a single drop of rain to ease the awful tension of waiting thatpossessed all things. 

Merryon left the mess early, tramping back over the dusty road, convinced that the downpour for which they all yearned was at hand. There was no moonlight that night, only a hot blackness, illumined nowand then by a brilliant dart of lightning that shocked the senses andleft behind a void indescribable, a darkness that could be felt. Therewas something savage in the atmosphere, something primitive andpassionate that seemed to force itself upon him even against his will. His pulses were strung to a tropical intensity that made him aware ofthe man's blood in him, racing at fever heat through veins that feltswollen to bursting. 

He entered his bungalow and flung off his clothes, took a plunge in abath of tepid water, from which he emerged with a pricking sensation allover him that made the lightest touch a torture, and finally, keyed upto a pitch of sensitiveness that excited his own contempt, he pulled onsome pyjamas and went out to his _charpoy_ on the veranda. 

He dismissed the _punkah_ coolie, feeling his presence to beintolerable, and threw himself down with his coat flung open. Theoppression of the atmosphere was as though a red-hot lid were beingforced down upon the tortured earth. The blackness beyond the verandawas like a solid wall. Sleep was out of the question. He could notsmoke. It was an effort even to breathe. He could only lie in tormentand wait--and wait. 

The flashes of lightning had become less frequent. A kind of wakingdream began to move in his brain. A figure gradually grew upon thatscreen of darkness--an elf-like thing, intangible, transparent, aquivering, shadowy image, remote as the dawn. 

Wide-eyed, he watched the vision, his pulses beating with a mad longingso fierce as to be utterly beyond his own control. It was as though hehad drunk strong wine and had somehow slipped the leash of ordinaryconvention. The savagery of the night, the tropical intensity of it, hadgot into him. Half-naked, wholly primitive, he lay and waited--andwaited. 

For a while the vision hung before him, tantalizing him, maddening him, eluding him. Then came a flash of lightning, and it was gone. 

He started up on the _charpoy_, every nerve tense as stretched wire. 

"Come back!" he cried, hoarsely. "Come back!"

Again the lightning streaked the darkness. 

There came a burst of thunder, and suddenly, through it and above it, he heard the far-distant roar of rain. He sprang to his feet. It wascoming. 

The seconds throbbed away. Something was moving in the compound, asubtle, awful Something. The trees and bushes quivered before it, thecluster-roses rattled their dead leaves wildly. But the man stoodmotionless in the light that fell across the veranda from the openwindow of his room, watching with eyes that shone with a fierce andglaring intensity for the return of his vision. 

The fevered blood was hammering at his temples. For the moment he wasscarcely sane. The fearful strain of the past few weeks that hadoverwhelmed less hardy men had wrought upon him in a fashion more subtlebut none the less compelling. They had been stricken down, whereas hehad been strung to a pitch where bodily suffering had almost ceased tocount. He had grown used to the torment, and now in this supreme momentit tore from him his civilization, but his physical strength remaineduntouched. He stood alert and ready, like a beast in a cage, waiting forwhatever the gods might deign to throw him. 

The tumult beyond that wall of blackness grew. It became a swirlinguproar. The rose-vines were whipped from the veranda and flung writhingin all directions. The trees in the compound strove like terrifiedcreatures in the grip of a giant. The heat of the blast was like tonguesof flame blown from an immense furnace. Merryon's whole body seemed tobe wrapped in fire. With a fierce movement, he stripped the coat fromhim and flung it into the room behind him. He was alone save for thedevils that raged in that pandemonium. What did it matter how he metthem?

And then, with the suddenness of a stupendous weight dropped fromheaven, came rain, rain in torrents and billows, rain solid as thevolume of Niagara, a crushing mighty force. 

The tempest shrieked through the compound. The lightning glimmered, leapt, became continuous. The night was an inferno of thunder andviolence. 

And suddenly out of the inferno, out of the awful strife of elements, out of that frightful rainfall, there came--a woman!

CHAPTER VI

LOVERS

She came haltingly, clinging with both hands to the rail of the veranda, her white face staring upwards in terror and instinctive appeal. She waslike an insect dragging itself away from destruction, with drenched andbattered wings. 

He saw her coming and stiffened. It was his vision returned to him, buttill she came within reach of him he was afraid to move. He stoodupright against the wall, every mad instinct of his blood fiercely awakeand clamouring. 

The noise and wind increased. It swirled along the veranda. She seemedafraid to quit her hold of the balustrade lest she should be swept away. But still she drew nearer to the lighted window, and at last, withdesperate resolution, she tore herself free and sprang for shelter. 

In that instant the man also sprang. He caught her in arms that almostexpected to clasp emptiness, arms that crushed in a savage ecstasy ofpossession at the actual contact with a creature of flesh and blood. Inthe same moment the lamp in the room behind him flared up and went out. 

There arose a frightened crying from his breast. For a few moments shefought like a mad thing for freedom. He felt her teeth set in his arm, and laughed aloud. Then very suddenly her struggles ceased. He becameaware of a change in her. She gave her whole weight into his arms, andlay palpitating against his heart. 

By the awful glare of the lightning he found her face uplifted to his. She was laughing, too, but in her eyes was such a passion of love as hehad never looked upon before. In that moment he knew that she washis--wholly, completely, irrevocably his. And, stooping, he kissed theupturned lips with the fierce exultation of the conqueror. 

Her arms slipped round his neck. She abandoned herself wholly to him. She gave him worship for worship, passion for passion. 

Later, he awoke to the fact that she was drenched from head to foot. Hedrew her into his room and shut the window against the driving blast. She clung to him still. 

"Isn't it dreadful?" she said, shuddering. "It's just as if SomethingBig is trying to get between us. "

He closed the shutter also, and groped for matches. She accompanied himon his search, for she would not lose touch with him for a moment. 

The lamp flared on her white, childish face, showing him wild joy andhorror strangely mingled. Her great eyes laughed up at him. 

"Billikins, darling! You aren't very decent, are you? I'm not decenteither, Billikins. I'd like to take off all my clothes and dance on myhead. "

He laughed grimly. "You will certainly have to undress--the sooner thebetter. "

She spread out her hands. "But I've nothing to wear, Billikins, nothingbut what I've got on. I didn't know it was going to rain so. You'll haveto lend me a suit of pyjamas, dear, while I get my things dried. Yousee"--she halted a little--"I came away in rather a hurry. I--wasbored. "

Merryon, oddly sobered by her utter dependence upon him, turned asideand foraged for brandy. She came close to him while he poured it out. 

"It isn't for me, is it? I couldn't drink it, darling. I shouldn't knowwhat was happening for the next twenty-four hours if I did. "

"It doesn't matter whether you do or not, " he said. "I shall be here tolook after you. "

She laughed at that, a little quivering laugh of sheer content. Hercheek was against his shoulder. "Live for ever, O king!" she said, andsoftly kissed it. 

Then she caught sight of something on the arm below. "Oh, darling, did Ido that?" she cried, in distress. 

He put the arm about her. "It doesn't matter. I don't feel it, " hesaid. "I've got you. "

She lifted her lips to his again. "Billikins, darling, I didn't know itwas you--at first, not till I heard you laugh. I'd rather die than hurtyou. You know it, don't you?"

"Of course I know it, " he said. 

He caught her to him passionately for a moment, then slowly relaxed hishold. "Drink this, like a good child, " he said, "and then you must getto bed. You are wet to the skin. "

"I know I am, " she said, "but I don't mind. "

"I mind for you, " he said. 

She laughed up at him, her eyes like stars. "I was lucky to get in whenI did, " she said. "Wasn't the heat dreadful--and the lightning? I ranall the way from the station. I was just terrified at it all. But I keptthinking of you, dear--of you, and how--and how you'd kissed me thatnight when I was such a little idiot as to cry. Must I really drink it, Billikins? Ah, well, just to please you--anything to please you. But youmust have one little sip first. Yes, darling, just one. That's to pleaseyour silly little wife, who wants to share everything with you now. There's my own boy! Now I'll drink every drop--every drop. "

She began to drink, standing in the circle of his arm; then looked up athim with a quick grimace. "It's powerful strong, dear. You'll have toput me to bed double quick after this, or I shall be standing on my headin earnest. "

He laughed a little. She leaned back against him. 

"Yes, I know, darling. You're a man that likes to manage, aren't you?Well, you can manage me and all that is mine for the rest of my naturallife. I'm never going to leave you again, Billikins. That's understood, is it?"

His face sobered. "What possessed you to come back to this damnableplace?" he said. 

She laughed against his shoulder. "Now, Billikins, don't you startasking silly questions. I'll tell you as much as it's good for you toknow all in good time. I came mainly because I wanted to. And that's thereason why I'm going to stay. See?"

She reached up an audacious finger and smoothed the faint frown from hisforehead with her sunny, provocative smile. 

"It'll have to be a joint management, " she said. "There are so manythings you mustn't do. Now, darling, I've finished the brandy to pleaseyou. So suppose you look out your prettiest suit of pyjamas, and I'lltry and get into them. " She broke into a giddy little laugh. "What wouldMrs. Paget say? Can't you see her face? I can!"

She stopped suddenly, struck dumb by a terrible blast of wind that shookthe bungalow to its foundations. 

"Just hark to the wind and the rain, Billikins!" she whispered, as itswirled on. "Did you ever hear anything so awful? It's as if--as if Godwere very furious--about something. Do you think He is, dear? Do you?"She pressed close to him with white, pleading face upraised. "Do youbelieve in God, Billikins? Honestly now!"

The man hesitated, holding her fast in his arms, seeing only thequivering, childish mouth and beseeching eyes. 

"You don't, do you?" she said. "I don't myself, Billikins. I think He'sjust a myth. Or anyhow--if He's there at all--He doesn't bother aboutthe people who were born on the wrong side of the safety-curtain. There, darling! Kiss me once more--I love your kisses--I love them! And now go!Yes--yes, you must go--just while I make myself respectable. Yes, butyou can leave the door ajar, dear heart! I want to feel you close athand. I am yours--till I die--king and master!"

Her eyes were brimming with tears; he thought her overwrought and weary, and passed them by in silence. 

And so through that night of wonder, of violence, and of storm, she layagainst his heart, her arms wound about his neck with a closeness whicheven sleep could not relax. 

Out of the storm she had come to him, like a driven bird seeking refuge;and through the fury of the storm he held her, compassing her with thefire of his passion. 

"I am safe now, " she murmured once, when he thought her sleeping. "I amquite--quite safe. "

And he, fancying the raging of the storm had disturbed her, made hushinganswer, "Quite safe, wife of my heart. "

She trembled a little, and nestled closer to his breast. 

CHAPTER VII

THE HONEYMOON

"You can't mean to let your wife stay here!" ejaculated the colonel, sharply. "You wouldn't do anything so mad!"

Merryon's hard mouth took a sterner downward curve. "My wife refuses toleave me, sir, " he said. 

"Good heavens above, Merryon!" The colonel's voice held a species ofirritated derision. "Do you tell me you can't manage--a--a piece ofthistledown like that?"

Merryon was silent, grimly, implacably silent. Plainly he had nointention of making such an admission. 

"It's madness--criminal madness!" Colonel Davenant looked at himaggressively, obviously longing to pierce that stubborn calm with whichMerryon had so long withstood the world. 

But Merryon remained unmoved, though deep in his private soul he knewthat the colonel was right, knew that he had decided upon a course ofaction that involved a risk which he dreaded to contemplate. 

"Oh, look here, Merryon!" The colonel lost his temper after his ownprecipitate fashion. "Don't be such a confounded fool! Take afortnight's leave--I can't spare you longer--and go back to the Hillswith her! Make her settle down with my wife at Shamkura! Tell her you'llbeat her if she doesn't!"

Merryon's grim face softened a little. "Thank you very much, sir! Butyou can't spare me even for so long. Moreover, that form of punishmentwouldn't scare her. So, you see, it would come to the same thing in theend. She is determined to face what I face for the present. "

"And you're determined to let her!" growled the colonel. 

Merryon shrugged his shoulders. 

"You'll probably lose her, " the colonel persisted, gnawing fiercely athis moustache. "Have you considered that?"

"I've considered everything, " Merryon said, rather heavily. "But shecame to me--through that inferno. I can't send her away again. Shewouldn't go. "

Colonel Davenant swore under his breath. "Let me talk to her!" he said, after a moment. 

The ghost of a smile touched Merryon's face. "It's no good, sir. You cantalk. You won't make any impression. "

"But it's practically a matter of life and death, man!" insisted thecolonel. "You can't afford any silly sentiment in an affair like this. "

"I am not sentimental, " Merryon said, and his lips twitched a littlewith the words. "But all the same, since she has set her heart onstaying, she shall stay. I have promised that she shall. "

"You are mad, " the colonel declared. "Just think a minute! Think whatyour feelings will be if she dies!"

"I have thought, sir. " The dogged note was in Merryon's voice again. Hisface was a mask of impenetrability. "If she dies, I shall at least havethe satisfaction of knowing that I made her happy first. "

It was his last word on the subject. He departed, leaving the colonelfuming. 

That evening the latter called upon Mrs. Merryon. He found her sittingon her husband's knee smoking a Turkish cigarette, and though sheabandoned this unconventional attitude to receive her visitor, he had adistinct impression that the two were in subtle communion throughout hisstay. 

"It's so very nice of you to take the trouble, " she said, in hercharming way, when he had made his most urgent representations. "Butreally it's much better for me to be with my husband here. I stayed atShamkura just as long as I could possibly bear it, and then I just hadto come back here. I don't think I shall get ill--really. And if Ido"--she made a little foreign gesture of the hands--"I'll nursemyself. "

As Merryon had foretold, it was useless to argue with her. Shedismissed all argument with airy unreason. But yet the colonel could notfind it in his heart to be angry with her. He was very angry withMerryon, so angry that for a whole fortnight he scarcely spoke to him. 

But when the end of the fortnight came, and with it the first break inthe rains, little Mrs. Merryon went smiling forth and returned his call. 

"Are you still being cross with Billikins?" she asked him, while herhand lay engagingly in his. "Because it's really not his fault, youknow. If he sent me to Kamchatka, I should still come back. "

"You wouldn't if you belonged to me, " said Colonel Davenant, with agrudging smile. 

She laughed and shook her head. "Perhaps I shouldn't--not unless I lovedyou as dearly as I love Billikins. But I think you needn't be crossabout it. I'm quite well. If you don't believe me, you can look at mytongue. "

She shot it out impudently, still laughing. And the colonel suddenly andpaternally patted her cheek. 

"You're a very naughty girl, " he said. "But I suppose we shall have tomake the best of you. Only, for Heaven's sake, don't go and get ill onthe quiet! If you begin to feel queer, send for the doctor at theoutset!"

He abandoned his attitude of disapproval towards Merryon after thatinterview, realizing possibly its injustice. He even declared in aletter to his wife that Mrs. Merryon was an engaging chit, with a willof her own that threatened to rule them all! Mrs. Davenant pursed herlips somewhat over the assertion, and remarked that Major Merryon's wifewas plainly more at home with men than women. Captain Silvester was soopenly out of temper over her absence that it was evident she had been"leading him on with utter heartlessness, " and now, it seemed, she meantto have the whole mess at her beck and call. 

As a matter of fact, Puck saw much more of the mess than she desired. Itbecame the fashion among the younger officers to drop into the Merryons'bungalow at the end of the evening. Amusements were scarce, and Puck wasa vigorous antidote to boredom. She always sparkled in society, and shewas too sweet-natured to snub "the boys, " as she called them. The smileof welcome was ever ready on her little, thin white face, the quick jeston her nimble tongue. 

"We mustn't be piggy just because we are happy, " she said to her husbandonce. "How are they to know we are having our honeymoon?" And then shenestled close to him, whispering, "It's quite the best honeymoon anywoman ever had. "

To which he could make but the one reply, pressing her to his heart andkissing the red lips that mocked so merrily when the world was lookingon. 

She had become the hub of his existence, and day by day he watched heranxiously, grasping his happiness with a feeling that it was too greatto last. 

The rains set in in earnest, and the reek of the Plains rose like anevil miasma to the turbid heavens. The atmosphere was as the interior ofa steaming cauldron. Great toadstools spread like a loathsome diseaseover the compound. Fever was rife in the camp. Mosquitoes buzzedincessantly everywhere, and rats began to take refuge in the bungalow. Puck was privately terrified at rats, but she smothered her terror inher husband's presence and maintained a smiling front. They laid downpoison for the rats, who died horribly in inaccessible places, makingher wonder if they were not almost preferable alive. And then one nightshe discovered a small snake coiled in a corner of her bedroom. 

She fled to Merryon in horror, and he and the _khitmutgar_ slew thecreature. But Puck's nerves were on edge from that day forward. She wentthrough agonies of cold fear whenever she was left alone, and shefeverishly encouraged the subalterns to visit her during her husband'sabsence on duty. 

He raised no objection till he one day returned unexpectedly to find herdancing a hornpipe for the benefit of a small, admiring crowd to whomshe had been administering tea. 

She sprang like a child to meet him at his entrance, declaring theentertainment at an end; and the crowd soon melted away. 

Then, somewhat grimly, Merryon took his wife to task. 

She sat on the arm of his chair with her arms round his neck, swingingone leg while she listened. She was very docile, punctuating his remarkswith soft kisses dropped inconsequently on the top of his head. When heended, she slipped cosily down upon his knee and promised to be good. 

It was not a very serious promise, and it was plainly proffered in aspirit of propitiation. Merryon pursued the matter no further, but hewas vaguely dissatisfied. He had a feeling that she regarded hisobjections as the outcome of eccentric prudishness, or at the best anunreasonable fit of jealousy. She smoothed him down as though he hadbeen a spoilt child, her own attitude supremely unabashed; and though hecould not be angry with her, an uneasy sense of doubt pressed upon him. Utterly his own as he knew her to be, yet dimly, intangibly, he began towonder what her outlook on life could be, how she regarded the tie thatbound them. It was impossible to reason seriously with her. She floatedout of his reach at the first touch. 

So that curious honeymoon of theirs continued, love and passion crudelymingled, union without knowledge, flaming worship and blind possession. 

"You are happy?" Merryon asked her once. 

To which she made ardent answer, "Always happy in your arms, O king. "

And Merryon was happy also, though, looking back later, it seemed to himthat he snatched his happiness on the very edge of the pit, and thateven at the time he must have been half-aware of it. 

When, a month after her coming, the scourge of the Plains caught her, aswas inevitable, he felt as if his new-found kingdom had begun already todepart from him. 

For a few days Puck was seriously ill with malaria. She came through itwith marvellous resolution, nursed by Merryon and his bearer, thegeneral factotum of the establishment. 

But it left her painfully weak and thin, and the colonel became againfuriously insistent that she should leave the Plains till the rains wereover. 

Merryon, curiously enough, did not insist. Only one evening he took thelittle wasted body into his arms and begged her--actually begged her--toconsent to go. 

"I shall be with you for the first fortnight, " he said. "It won't bemore than a six-weeks' separation. "

"Six weeks!" she protested, piteously. 

"Perhaps less, " he said. "I may be able to come to you for a day or twoin the middle. Say you will go--and stay, sweetheart! Set my mind atrest!"

"But, darling, you may be ill. A thousand things may happen. And Icouldn't go back to Shamkura. I couldn't!" said Puck, almost crying, clinging fast around his neck. 

"But why not?" he questioned, gently. "Weren't they kind to you there?Weren't you happy?"

She clung faster. "Happy, Billikins! With that hateful Captain Silvesterlying in wait to--to make love to me! I didn't tell you before. Butthat--that was why I left. "

He frowned above her head. "You ought to have told me before, Puck. "

She trembled in his arms. "It didn't seem to matter when once I'd gotaway; and I knew it would only make you cross. "

"How did he make love to you?" demanded Merryon. 

He tried to see her face, but she hid it resolutely against him. "Don't, Billikins! It doesn't matter now. "

"It does matter, " he said, sternly. 

Puck was silent. 

Merryon continued inexorably. "I suppose it was your own fault. You ledhim on. "

She gave a little nervous laugh against his breast. "I never meant to, Billikins. I--I don't much like men--as a rule. "

"You manage to conceal that fact very successfully, " he said. 

She laughed again rather piteously. "You don't know me, " she whispered. "I'm not--like that--all through. "

"I hope not, " said Merryon, severely. 

She turned her face slightly upwards and snuggled it into his neck. "Youused not to mind, " she said. 

He held her close in his arms the while he steeled himself against her. "Well, I mind now, " he said. "And I will have no more of it. Is thatclearly understood?"

She assented dubiously, her lips softly kissing his neck. "It isn't--allmy fault, Billikins, " she whispered, wistfully, "that men treatme--lightly. "

He set his teeth. "It must be your fault, " he declared, firmly. "You canhelp it if you try. "

She turned her face more fully to his. "How grim you look, darling! Youhaven't kissed me for quite five minutes. "

"I feel more like whipping you, " he said, grimly. 

She leapt in his arms as if he had been about to put his words intoaction. "Oh, no!" she cried. "No, you wouldn't beat me, Billikins. You--you wouldn't, dear, would you?" Her great eyes, dilated andimploring, gazed into his for a long desperate second ere she gaveherself back to him with a sobbing laugh. "You're not in earnest, ofcourse. I'm silly to listen to you. Do kiss me, darling, and notfrighten me anymore!"

He held her close, but still he did not comply with her request. "Didthis Silvester ever kiss you?" he asked. 

She shook her head vehemently, hiding her face. 

"Look at me!" he said. 

"No, Billikins!" she protested. 

"Then tell me the truth!" he said. 

"He kissed me--once, Billikins, " came in distressed accents from hisshoulder. 

"And you?" Merryon's words sounded clipped and cold. 

She shivered. "I ran right away to you. I--I didn't feel safe any more. "

Merryon sat silent. Somehow he could not stir up his anger against her, albeit his inner consciousness told him that she had been to blame; butfor the first time his passion was cooled. He held her without ardour, the while he wondered. 

That night he awoke to the sound of her low sobbing at his side. Hisheart smote him. He put forth a comforting hand. 

She crept into his arms. "Oh, Billikins, " she whispered, "keep me withyou! I'm not safe--by myself. "

The man's soul stirred within him. Dimly he began to understand what hisprotection meant to her. It was her anchor, all she had to keep her fromthe whirlpools. Without it she was at the mercy of every wind that blew. Again cold doubt assailed him, but he put it forcibly away. He gatheredher close, and kissed the tears from her face and the trouble from herheart. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE MOUTH OF THE PIT

So Puck had her way and stayed. 

She was evidently sublimely happy--at least in Merryon's society, butshe did not pick up her strength very quickly, and but for her unfailinghigh spirits Merryon would have felt anxious about her. There seemed tobe nothing of her. She was not like a creature of flesh and blood. Yethow utterly, how abundantly, she satisfied him! She poured out her loveto him in a perpetual offering that never varied or grew less. She gavehim freely, eagerly, glowingly, all she had to give. With passionatetriumph she answered to his need. And that need was growing. He couldnot blind himself to the fact. His profession no longer filled his life. There were times when he even resented its demands upon him. The sicklist was rapidly growing, and from morning till night his days werefull. 

Puck made no complaint. She was always waiting for him, however late thehour of his return. She was always in his arms the moment the drippingovercoat was removed. Sometimes he brought work back with him, andwrestled with regimental accounts and other details far into the night. It was not his work, but someone had to do it, and it had devolved uponhim. 

Puck never would go to bed without him. It was too lonely, she said; shewas afraid of snakes, or rats, or bogies. She used to curl up on the_charpoy_ in his room, clad in the airiest of wrappers, and doze thetime away till he was ready. 

One night she actually fell into a sound sleep thus, and he, finishinghis work, sat on and on, watching her, loath to disturb her. There wasdeep pathos in her sleeping face. Lines that in her waking moments werenever apparent were painfully noticeable in repose. She had the puzzled, wistful look of a child who has gone through trouble withoutunderstanding it--a hurt and piteous look. 

He watched her thus till a sense of trespass came upon him, and then herose, bent over her, and very tenderly lifted her. 

She was alert on the instant, with a sharp movement of resistance. Thenat once her arms went round his neck. "Oh, darling, is it you? Don'tbother to carry me! You're so tired!"

He smiled at the idea, and she nestled against his heart, lifting softlips to his. 

He carried her to bed, and laid her down, but she would not let him goimmediately. She yet clung about his neck, hiding her face against it. 

He held her closely. "Good-night, little pal--little sweetheart, " hesaid. 

Her arms tightened. "Billikins!" she said. 

He waited. "What is it, dear?"

She became a little agitated. He could feel her lips moving, but theysaid no audible word. 

He waited in silence. And suddenly she raised her face and looked at himfully. There was a glory in her eyes such as he had never seen before. 

"I dreamt last night that the wonderfullest thing happened, " she said, her red lips quivering close to his own. "Billikins, what if--the dreamcame true?"

A hot wave of feeling went through him at her words. He crushed her tohim, feeling the quick beat of her heart against his own, the throbbingsurrender of her whole being to his. He kissed her burningly, with sucha passion of devotion as had never before moved him. 

She laughed rapturously. "Isn't it great, Billikins?" she said. "And I'dhave missed it all if it hadn't been for you. Just think--if I hadn'tjumped--before the safety-curtain--came--down!"

She was speaking between his kisses, and eventually they stopped her. 

"Don't think, " he said; "don't think!"

It was the beginning of a new era, the entrance of a new element intotheir lives. Perhaps till that night he had never looked upon her whollyin the light of wife. His blind passion for her had intoxicated him. She had been to him an elf from fairyland, a being elusive who offeredhim all the magic of her love, but upon whom he had no claims. But fromthat night his attitude towards her underwent a change. Very tenderly hetook her into his own close keeping. She had become human in his eyes, no longer a wayward sprite, but a woman, eager-hearted, and his own. Hegave her reverence because of that womanhood which he had only justbegun to visualize in her. Out of his passion there had kindled agreater fire. All that she had in life she gave him, glorying in thegift, and in return he gave her love. 

All through the days that followed he watched over her with unfailingdevotion--a devotion that drew her nearer to him than she had ever beenbefore. She was ever responsive to his mood, keenly susceptible to hisevery phase of feeling. But, curiously, she took no open notice of thechange in him. She was sublimely happy, and like a child she lived uponhappiness, asking no questions. He never saw her other than content. 

Slowly that month of deadly rain wore on. The Plains had become a vastand fetid swamp, the atmosphere a weltering, steamy heat, charged withfever, leaden with despair. 

But Puck was like a singing bird in the heart of the wilderness. Shelived apart in a paradise of her own, and even the colonel had torelent again and bestow his grim smile upon her. 

"Merryon's a lucky devil, " he said, and everyone in the mess agreed withhim. 

But, "You wait!" said Macfarlane, the doctor, with gloomy emphasis. "There's more to come. "

It was on a night of awful darkness that he uttered this prophecy, andhis hearers were in too overwhelming a state of depression to debate thematter. 

Merryon's bungalow was actually the only one in the station in whichhappiness reigned. They were sitting together in his den smoking a greatmany cigarettes, listening to the perpetual patter of the rain on theroof and the drip, drip, drip of it from gutter to veranda, superblycontent and "completely weather-proof, " as Puck expressed it. 

"I hope none of the boys will turn up to-night, " she said. "We haven'troom for more than two, have we?"

"Oh, someone is sure to come, " responded Merryon. "They'll be gettingbored directly, and come along here for coffee. "

"There's someone there now, " said Puck, cocking her head. "I think Ishall run along to bed and leave you to do the entertaining. Shall I?"

She looked at him with a mischievous smile, very bright-eyed and alert. 

"It would be a quick method of getting rid of them, " remarked Merryon. 

She jumped up. "Very well, then. I'll go, shall I? Shall I, darling?"

He reached out a hand and grasped her wrist. "No, " he said, deliberately, smiling up at her. "You'll stay and do your duty--unlessyou're tired, " he added. "Are you?"

She stooped to bestow a swift caress upon his forehead. "My ownBillikins!" she murmured. "You're the kindest husband that ever was. Ofcourse, I'm going to stay. "

She could scarcely have effected her escape had she so desired, foralready a hand was on the door. She turned towards it with the roguishsmile still upon her lips. 

Merryon was looking at her at the moment. She interested him far morethan the visitor, whom he guessed to be one of the subalterns. And solooking, he saw the smile freeze upon her face to a mask-likeimmobility. And very suddenly he remembered a man whom he had once seenkilled on a battlefield--killed instantaneously--while laughing at somejoke. The frozen mirth, the starting eyes, the awful vacancy where thesoul had been--he saw them all again in the face of his wife. 

"Great heavens, Puck! What is it?" he said, and sprang to his feet. 

In the same instant she turned with the movement of one tearing herselffree from an evil spell, and flung herself violently upon his breast. "Oh, Billikins, save me--save me!" she cried, and broke into hystericalsobbing. 

His arms were about her in a second, sheltering her, sustaining her. Hiseyes went beyond her to the open door. 

A man was standing there--a bulky, broad-featured, coarse-lipped manwith keen black eyes that twinkled maliciously between thick lids, and ablack beard that only served to emphasize an immensely heavy under-jaw. Merryon summed him up swiftly as a Portuguese American with more than adash of darker blood in his composition. 

He entered the room in a fashion that was almost insulting. It wasevident that he was summing up Merryon also. 

The latter waited for him, stiff with hostility, his arms still tightlyclasping Puck's slight, cowering form. He spoke as the strangeradvanced, in his voice a deep menace like the growl of an angry beastprotecting its own. 

"Who are you? And what do you want?"

The stranger's lips parted, showing a gleam of strong white teeth. "Myname, " he said, speaking in a peculiarly soft voice that somehowreminded Merryon of the hiss of a reptile, "is Leo Vulcan. You haveheard of me? Perhaps not. I am better known in the Western Hemisphere. You ask me what I want?" He raised a brown, hairy hand and pointedstraight at the girl in Merryon's arms. "I want--my wife!"

Puck's cry of anguish followed the announcement, and after it camesilence--a tense, hard-breathing silence, broken only by her long-drawn, agonized sobbing. 

Merryon's hold had tightened all unconsciously to a grip; and she wasclinging to him wildly, convulsively, as she had never clung before. Hecould feel the horror that pulsed through her veins; it set his ownblood racing at fever-speed. 

Over her head he faced the stranger with eyes of steely hardness. "Youhave made a mistake, " he said, briefly and sternly. 

The other man's teeth gleamed again. He had a way of lifting his lipwhen talking which gave him an oddly bestial look. "I think not, " hesaid. "Let the lady speak for herself! She will not--I think--deny me. "

There was an intolerable sneer in the last sentence. A sudden awfuldoubt smote through Merryon. He turned to the girl sobbing at hisbreast. 

"Puck, " he said, "for Heaven's sake--what is this man to you?"

She did not answer him; perhaps she could not. Her distress was terribleto witness, utterly beyond all control. 

But the newcomer was by no means disconcerted by it. He drew near withthe utmost assurance. 

"Allow me to deal with her!" he said, and reached out a hand to touchher. 

But at that action Merryon's wrath burst into sudden flame. "Curse you, keep away!" he thundered. "Lay a finger on her at your peril!"

The other stood still, but his eyes gleamed evilly. "My good sir, " hesaid, "you have not yet grasped the situation. It is not a pleasant onefor you--for either of us; but it has got to be grasped. I do not happento know under what circumstances you met this woman; but I do know thatshe was my lawful wife before the meeting took place. In whatever lightyou may be pleased to regard that fact, you must admit that legally sheis my property, not yours!"

"Oh, no--no--no!" moaned Puck. 

Merryon said nothing. He felt strangled, as if a ligature about histhroat had forced all the blood to his brain and confined it there. 

After a moment the bearded man continued: "You may not know it, but sheis a dancer of some repute, a circumstance which she owes entirely tome. I picked her up, a mere child in the streets of London, turningcart-wheels for a living. I took her and trained her as an acrobat. Shewas known on the stage as Toby the Tumbler. Everyone took her for a boy. Later, she developed a talent for dancing. It was then that I decided tomarry her. She desired the marriage even more than I did. " Again hesmiled his brutal smile. 

"Oh, no!" sobbed Puck. "Oh, no!"

He passed on with a derisive sneer. "We were married about two yearsago. She became popular in the halls very soon after, and it turned herhead. You may have discovered yourself by this time that she is notalways as tractable as she might be. I had to teach her obedience andrespect, and eventually I succeeded. I conquered her--as Ihoped--completely. However, six months ago she took advantage of a stagefire to give me the slip, and till recently I believed that she wasdead. Then a friend of mine--Captain Silvester--met her out here inIndia a few weeks back at a place called Shamkura, and recognized her. Her dancing qualities are superb. I think she displayed them a littlerashly if she really wished to remain hidden. He sent me the news, and Ihave come myself to claim her--and take her back. "

"You can't take me back!" It was Puck's voice, but not as Merryon hadever heard it before. She flashed round like a hunted creature at bay, her eyes blazing a wild defiance into the mocking eyes opposite. "Youcan't take me back!" she repeated, with quivering insistence. "Ourmarriage was--no marriage! It was a sham--a sham! But even if--evenif--it had been--a true marriage--you would have to--set me--free--now. "

"And why?" said Vulcan, with his evil smile. 

She was white to the lips, but she faced him unflinching. "There is--areason, " she said. 

"In--deed!" He uttered a scoffing laugh of deadly insult. "The samereason, I presume, as that for which you married me?"

She flinched at that--flinched as if he had struck her across the face. "Oh, you brute!" she said, and shuddered back against Merryon'ssupporting arm. "You wicked brute!"

It was then that Merryon wrenched himself free from that paralysingconstriction that bound him, and abruptly intervened. 

"Puck, " he said, "go! Leave us! I will deal with this matter in my ownway. "

She made no move to obey. Her face was hidden in her hands. But she wassobbing no longer, only sickly shuddering from head to foot. 

He took her by the shoulder. "Go, child, go!" he urged. 

But she shook her head. "It's no good, " she said. "He has got--thewhip-hand. "

The utter despair of her tone pierced straight to his soul. She stood asone bent beneath a crushing burden, and he knew that her face wasburning behind the sheltering hands. 

He still held her with a certain stubbornness of possession, though shemade no further attempt to cling to him. 

"What do you mean by that?" he said, bending to her. "Tell me what youmean! Don't be afraid to tell me!"

She shook her head again. "I am bound, " she said, dully, "bound hand andfoot. "

"You mean that you really are--married to him?" Merryon spoke the wordsas it were through closed lips. He had a feeling as of being caught insome crushing machinery, of being slowly and inevitably ground toshapeless atoms. 

Puck lifted her head at length and spoke, not looking at him. "I wentthrough a form of marriage with him, " she said, "for the sakeof--of--of--decency. I always loathed him. I always shall. He only wantsme now because I am--I have been--valuable to him. When he first took mehe seemed kind. I was nearly starved, quite desperate, and alone. Heoffered to teach me to be an acrobat, to make a living. I'd better havedrowned myself. " A little tremor of passion went through her voice; shepaused to steady it, then went on. "He taught by fear--and cruelty. Heopened my eyes to evil. He used to beat me, too--tie me up in thegymnasium--and beat me with a whip till--till I was nearly beside myselfand ready to promise anything--anything, only to stop the torture. Andso he got everything he wanted from me, and when I began to besuccessful as a dancer he--married me. I thought it would make thingsbetter. I didn't think, if I were his wife, he could go on ill-treatingme quite so much. But I soon found my mistake. I soon found I was evenmore his slave than before. And then--just a week before thefire--another woman came, and told me that it was not a real marriage;that--that he had been through exactly the same form with her--and therewas nothing in it. "

She stopped again at sound of a low laugh from Vulcan. "Not quite thesame form, my dear, " he said. "Yours was as legal and binding as theEnglish law could make it. I have the certificate with me to prove this. As you say, you were valuable to me then--as you will be again, and so Iwas careful that the contract should be complete in every particular. Now--if you have quite finished your--shall we call it confession?--Isuggest that you should return to your lawful husband and leave thisgentleman to console himself as soon as may be. It is growing late, andit is not my intention that you should spend another night under hisprotection. "

He spoke slowly, with a curious, compelling emphasis, and as if inanswer to that compulsion Puck's eyes came back to his. 

"Oh, no!" she said, in a quick, frightened whisper. "No! I can't! Ican't!"

Yet she made a movement towards him as if drawn irresistibly. 

And at that movement, wholly involuntary as it was, something inMerryon's brain seemed to burst. He saw all things a burning, intolerable red. With a strangled oath he caught her back, held herviolently--a prisoner in his arms. 

"By God, no!" he said. "I'll kill you first!"

She turned in his embrace. She lifted her lips and passionately kissedhim. "Yes, kill me! Kill me!" she cried to him. "I'd rather die!"

Again the stranger laughed, though his eyes were devilish. "You hadbetter come without further trouble, " he remarked. "You will only add toyour punishment--which will be no light one as it is--by thesehysterics. Do you wish to see my proofs?" He addressed Merryon withsudden open malignancy. "Or am I to take them to the colonel of yourregiment?"

"You may take them to the devil!" Merryon said. He was holding hercrushed to his heart. He flung his furious challenge over her head. "Ifthe marriage was genuine you shall set her free. If it was not"--hepaused, and ended in a voice half-choked with passion--"you can go toblazes!"

The other man showed his teeth in a wolfish snarl. "She is my wife, " hesaid, in his slow, sibilant way. "I shall not set her free. And--wherever I go, she will go also. "

"If you can take her, you infernal blackguard!" Merryon threw at him. "Now get out. Do you hear? Get out--if you don't want to be shot!Whatever happens to-morrow, I swear by God in heaven she shall not gowith you to-night!"

The uncontrolled violence of his speech was terrible. His hold upon Puckwas violent also, more violent than he knew. Her whole body lay athrobbing weight upon him, and he was not even aware of it. 

"Go!" he reiterated, with eyes of leaping flame. "Go! or--" He left thesentence uncompleted. It was even more terrible than his flow of wordshad been. The whole man vibrated with a wrath that possessed him in afashion so colossal as to render him actually sublime. He mastered thesituation by the sheer, indomitable might of his fury. There was nostanding against him. It would have been as easy to stem a racingtorrent. 

Vulcan, for all his insolence, realized the fact. The man's strength inthat moment was gigantic, practically limitless. There was no copingwith it. Still with the snarl upon his lips he turned away. 

"You will pay for this, my wife, " he said. "You will pay in full. When Ipunish, I punish well. "

He reached the door and opened it, still leering back at the limp, girlish form in Merryon's arms. 

"It will not be soon over, " he said. "It will take many days, manynights, that punishment--till you have left off crying for mercy, orexpecting it. "

He was on the threshold. His eyes suddenly shot up with a gloatinghatred to Merryon's. 

"And you, " he said, "will have the pleasure of knowing every night whenyou lie down alone that she is either writhing under the lash--afrequent exercise for a while, my good sir--or finding subtle comfort inmy arms; both pleasant subjects for your dreams. "

He was gone. The door closed slowly, noiselessly, upon his exit. Therewas no sound of departing feet. 

But Merryon neither listened nor cared. He had turned Puck's deathlyface upwards, and was covering it with burning, passionate kisses, drawing her back to life, as it were, by the fiery intensity of hisworship. 

CHAPTER IX

GREATER THAN DEATH

She came to life, weakly gasping. She opened her eyes upon him with theold, unwavering adoration in their depths. And then before his burninglook hers sank. She hid her face against him with an inarticulate soundmore anguished than any weeping. 

The savagery went out of his hold. He drew her to the _charpoy_ on whichshe had spent so many evenings waiting for him, and made her sit down. 

She did not cling to him any longer; she only covered her face so thathe should not see it, huddling herself together in a piteous heap, herblack, curly head bowed over her knees in an overwhelming agony ofhumiliation. 

Yet there was in the situation something that was curiously reminiscentof that night when she had leapt from the burning stage into the safetyof his arms. Now, as then, she was utterly dependent upon the charity ofhis soul. 

He turned from her and poured brandy and water into a glass. He cameback and knelt beside her. 

"Drink it, my darling!" he said. 

She made a quick gesture as of surprised protest. She did not raise herhead. It was as if an invisible hand were crushing her to the earth. 

"Why don't you--kill me?" she said. 

He laid his hand upon her bent head. "Because you are the salt of theearth to me, " he said; "because I worship you. "

She caught the hand with a little sound of passionate endearment, andlaid her face down in it, her hot, quivering lips against his palm. "Ilove you so!" she said. "I love you so!"

He pressed her face slowly upwards. But she resisted. "No, no! Ican't--meet--your--eyes. "

"You need not be afraid, " he said. "Once and for all, Puck, believe mewhen I tell you that this thing shall never--can never--come betweenus. "

She caught her breath sharply; but still she refused to look up. "Thenyou don't understand, " she said. "You--you--can't understandthat--that--I was--his--his--" Her voice failed. She caught his hand inboth her own, pressing it hard over her face, writhing in mute shamebefore him. 

"Yes, I do understand, " Merryon said, and his voice was very quiet, fullof a latent force that thrilled her magnetically. "I understand thatwhen you were still a child this brute took possession of you, broke youto his will, did as he pleased with you. I understand that you were ashelpless as a rabbit in the grip of a weasel. I understand that he wasalways an abomination and a curse to you, that when deliverance offeredyou seized it; and I do not forget that you would have preferred deathif I would have let you die. Do you know, Puck"--his voice had softenedby imperceptible degrees; he was bending towards her so that she couldfeel his breath on her neck while he spoke--"when I took it upon me tosave you from yourself that night I knew--I guessed--what had happenedto you? No, don't start like that! If there was anything to forgive Iforgave you long ago. I understood. Believe me, though I am a man, I canunderstand. "

He stopped. His hand was all wet with her tears. "Oh, darling!" shewhispered. "Oh, darling!"

"Don't cry, sweetheart!" he said. "And don't be afraid any longer! Itook you from your inferno. I learnt to love you--just as you were, dear, just as you were. You tried to keep me at a distance; do youremember? And then--you found life was too strong for you. You came backand gave yourself to me. Have you ever regretted it, my darling? Tell methat!"

"Never!" she sobbed. "Never! Your love--your love--has been--thesafety-curtain--always--between me and--harm. "

And then very suddenly she lifted her face, her streaming eyes, and methis look. 

"But there's one thing, darling, " she said, "which you must know. Iloved you always--always--even before that monsoon night. But I came toyou then because--because--I knew that I had been recognized, and--I wasafraid--I was terrified--till--till I was safe in your arms. "

"Ah! But you came to me, " he said. 

A sudden gleam of mirth shot through her woe. "My! That was a night, Billikins!" she said. And then the clouds came back upon her, overwhelming her. "Oh, what is there to laugh at? How could I laugh?"

He lifted the glass he held and drank from it, then offered it to her. "Drink with me!" he said. 

She took, not the glass, but his wrist, and drank with her eyes upon hisface. 

When she had finished she drew his arms about her, and lay against hisshoulder with closed eyes for a space, saying no word. 

At last, with a little murmuring sigh, she spoke. "What is going tohappen, Billikins?"

"God knows, " he said. 

But there was no note of dismay in his voice. His hold was strong andsteadfast. 

She stirred a little. "Do you believe in God?" she asked him, for thesecond time. 

He had not answered her before; he answered her now without hesitation. "Yes, I do. "

She lifted her head to look at him. "I wonder why?" she said. 

He was silent for a moment; then, "Just because I can hold you in myarms, " he said, "and feel that nothing else matters--or can matteragain. "

"You really feel that?" she said, quickly. "You really love me, dear?"

"That is love, " he said, simply. 

"Oh, darling!" Her breath came fast. "Then, if they try to take me fromyou--you will really do it--you won't be afraid?"

"Do what?" he questioned, sombrely. 

"Kill me, Billikins, " she answered, swiftly. "Kill me--sooner than letme go. "

He bent his head. "Yes, " he said. "My love is strong enough for that. "

"But what would you do--afterwards?" she breathed, her lips raised tohis. 

A momentary surprise showed in his eyes. "Afterwards?" he questioned. 

"After I was gone, darling?" she said, anxiously. 

A very strange smile came over Merryon's face. He pressed her to him, his eyes gazing deep into hers. He kissed her, but not passionately, rather with reverence. 

"Your afterwards will be mine, dear, wherever it is, " he said. "If itcomes to that--if there is any going--in that way--we go together. "

The anxiety went out of her face in a second. She smiled back at himwith utter confidence. "Oh, Billikins!" she said. "Oh, Billikins, thatwill be great!"

She went back into his arms, and lay there for a further space, sayingno word. There was something sacred in the silence between them, something mysterious and wonderful. The drip, drip, drip of theceaseless rain was the only sound in the stillness. They seemed to bealone together in a sanctuary that none other might enter, husband andwife, made one by the Bond Imperishable, waiting together fordeliverance. They were the most precious moments that either had everknown, for in them they were more truly wedded in spirit than they hadever been before. 

How long the great silence lasted neither could have said. It lay like aspell for awhile, and like a spell it passed. 

Merryon moved at last, moved and looked down into his wife's eyes. 

They met his instantly without a hint of shrinking; they even smiled. "It must be nearly bedtime, " she said. "You are not going to be busyto-night?"

"Not to-night, " he said. 

"Then don't let's sit up any longer, darling, " she said. "We can'teither of us afford to lose our beauty sleep. "

She rose with him, still with her shining eyes lifted to his, still withthat brave gaiety sparkling in their depths. She gave his arm a tightlittle squeeze. "My, Billikins, how you've grown!" she said, admiringly. "You always were--pretty big. But to-night you're just--titanic!"

He smiled and touched her cheek, not speaking. 

"You fill the world, " she said. 

He bent once more to kiss her. "You fill my heart, " he said. 

CHAPTER X

THE SACRIFICE

They went round the bungalow together to see to the fastenings of doorsand windows. The _khitmutgar_ had gone to his own quarters for thenight, and they were quite alone. The drip, drip, drip of the rain wasstill the only sound, save when the far cry of a prowling jackal cameweirdly through the night. 

"It's more gruesome than usual somehow, " said Puck, still fast clingingto her husband's arm. "I'm not a bit frightened, darling, only sort ofcreepy at the back. But there's nobody here but you and me, is there?"

"Nobody, " said Merryon. 

"And will you please come and see if there are any snakes or scorpionsbefore I begin to undress?" she said. "The very fact of looking under mybed makes my hair stand on end. "

He went with her and made a thorough investigation, finding nothing. 

"That's all right, " she said, with a sigh of relief. "And yet, somehow, I feel as if something is waiting round the corner to pounce out on us. Is it Fate, do you think? Or just my silly fancy?"

"I think it is probably your startled nerves, dear, " he said, smiling alittle. 

She assented with a half-suppressed shudder. "But I'm sure somethingwill happen directly, " she said. "I'm sure. I'm sure. "

"Well, I shall only be in the next room if it does, " he said. 

He was about to leave her, but she sprang after him, clinging to hisarm. "And you won't be late, will you?" she pleaded. "I can't sleepwithout you. Ah, what is that? What is it? What is it?"

Her voice rose almost to a shriek. A sudden loud knocking had brokenthrough the endless patter of the rain. 

Merryon's face changed a very little. The iron-grey eyes became stony, quite expressionless. He stood a moment listening. Then, "Stay here!" hesaid, his voice very level and composed. "Yes, Puck, I wish it. Stayhere!"

It was a distinct command, the most distinct he had ever given her. Herclinging hands slipped from his arm. She stood rigid, unprotesting, white as death. 

The knocking was renewed with fevered energy as Merryon turned quietlyto obey the summons. He closed the door upon his wife and went down thepassage. 

There was no haste in his movements as he slipped back the bolts, ratherthe studied deliberation of purpose of a man armed against allemergency. But the door burst inwards against him the moment he openedit, and one of his subalterns, young Harley, almost fell into his arms. 

Merryon steadied him with the utmost composure. "Halloa, Harley! You, isit? What's all this noise about?"

The boy pulled himself together with an effort. He was white to thelips. 

"There's cholera broken out, " he said. "Forbes and Robey--both down--attheir own bungalow. And they've got it at the barracks, too. Macfarlane's there. Can you come?"

"Of course--at once. " Merryon pulled him forward. "Go in there and get adrink while I speak to my wife!"

He turned back to her door, but she met him on the threshold. Her eyesburned like stars in her little pale face. 

"It's all right, Billikins, " she said, and swallowed hard. "I heard. You've got to go to the barracks, haven't you, darling? I knew there wasgoing to be--something. Well, you must take something to eat in yourpocket. You'll want it before morning. And some brandy too. Give me yourflask, darling, and I'll fill it!"

Her composure amazed him. He had expected anguished distress at the bareidea of his leaving her, but those brave, bright eyes of hers wereactually smiling. 

"Puck!" he said. "You--wonder!"

She made a small face at him. "Oh, you're not the only wonder in theworld, " she told him. "Run along and get yourself ready! My! You aregoing to be busy, aren't you?"

She nodded to him and ran into the drawing-room to young Harley. Heheard her chatting there while he made swift preparations for departure, and he thanked Heaven that she realized so little the ghastly nature ofthe horror that had swept down upon them. He hoped the boy would havethe sense to let her remain unenlightened. It was bad enough to have toleave her after the ordeal they had just faced together. He did not wanther terrified on his account as well. 

But when he joined them she was still smiling, eager only to provide forany possible want of his, not thinking of herself at all. 

"I hope you will enjoy your picnic, Billikins, " she said. "I'll shut thedoor after you, and I shall know it's properly fastened. Oh, yes, the_khit_ will take care of me, Mr. Harley. He's such a brave man. He killssnakes without the smallest change of countenance. Good-night, Billikins! Take care of yourself. I suppose you'll come back sometime?"

She gave him the lightest caress imaginable, shook hands affectionatelywith young Harley, who was looking decidedly less pinched than he hadupon arrival, and stood waving an energetic hand as they went away intothe dripping dark. 

"You didn't tell her--anything?" Merryon asked, as they plunged down theroad. 

"Not more than I could help, Major. But she seemed to know without. "The lad spoke uncomfortably, as if against his will. 

"She asked questions, then?" Merryon's voice was sharp. 

"Yes, a few. She wanted to know about Forbes and Robey. Robey is awfullybad. I didn't tell her that. "

"Who is looking after them?" Merryon asked. 

"Only a native orderly now. The colonel and Macfarlane both had to go tothe barracks. It's frightful there. About twenty cases already. Oh, hangthis rain!" said Harley, bitterly. 

"But couldn't they take them--Forbes, I mean, and Robey--to thehospital?" questioned Merryon. 

"No. To tell you the truth, Robey is pegging out, poor fellow. It'salways the best chaps that go first, though. Heaven knows, we may be allgone before this time to-morrow. "

"Don't talk like a fool!" said Merryon, curtly. 

And Harley said no more. 

They pressed on through mud that was ankle-deep to the barracks. 

There during all the nightmare hours that followed Merryon worked withthe strength of ten. He gave no voluntary thought to his wife waitingfor him in loneliness, but ever and anon those blazing eyes of hers rosebefore his mental vision, and he saw again that brave, sweet smile withwhich she had watched him go. 

The morning found him haggard but indomitable, wrestling with thedifficulties of establishing a camp a mile or more from the barracks outin the rain-drenched open. There had been fourteen deaths in the night, and seven men were still fighting a losing battle for their lives in thehospital. He had a native officer to help him in his task; young Harleywas superintending the digging of graves, and the colonel had gone tothe bungalow where the two stricken officers lay. 

Dank and gruesome dawned the day, with the smell of rot in the air andthe sense of death hovering over all. And there came to Merryon asudden, overwhelming desire to go back to his bungalow beyond the fetidtown and see how his wife was faring. She was the only white woman inthe place, and the thought of her isolation came upon him now like afiery torture. 

It was the fiercest temptation he had ever known. Till that day hisregimental duties had always been placed first with rigorousdetermination. Now for the first time he found himself torn byconflicting ties. The craving for news of her possessed him like aburning thirst. Yet he knew that some hours must elapse before he couldhonestly consider himself free to go. 

He called an orderly at last, finding the suspense unendurable, and gavehim a scribbled line to carry to his wife. 

"Is all well, sweetheart? Send back word by bearer, " he wrote, and toldthe man not to return without an answer. 

The orderly departed, and for a while Merryon devoted himself to thematter in hand, and crushed his anxiety into the background. But at theend of an hour he was chafing in a fever of impatience. What delayed thefellow? In Heaven's name, why was he so long?

Ghastly possibilities arose in his mind, fears unspeakable that he darednot face. He forced himself to attend to business, but the suspense wasbecoming intolerable. He began to realize that he could not stand itmuch longer. 

He was nearing desperation when the colonel came unexpectedly upon thescene, unshaven and haggard as he was himself, but firm as a rock in theface of adversity. 

He joined Merryon, and received the latter's report, grimly taciturn. They talked together for a space of needs and expediencies. The felldisease had got to be checked somehow. He spoke of recalling theofficers on leave. There had been such a huge sick list that summer thatthey were reduced to less than half their normal strength. 

"You're worth a good many, " he said to Merryon, half-grudgingly, "butyou can't work miracles. Besides, you've got--" He broke off abruptly. "How's your wife?"

"That's what I don't know, sir. " Feverishly Merryon made answer. "I lefther last night. 

She was well then. But since--I sent down an orderly over an hour ago. He's not come back. "

"Confound it!" said the colonel, testily. "You'd better go yourself. "

Merryon glanced swiftly round. 

"Yes, go, go!" the colonel reiterated, irritably. "I'll relieve you fora spell. Go and satisfy yourself--and me! None but an infernal foolwould have kept her here, " he added, in a growling undertone, as Merryonlifted a hand in brief salute and started away through the sodden mists. 

He went as he had never gone in his life before, and as he went themists parted before him and a blinding ray of sunshine came smitingthrough the gap like the sword of the destroyer. The simile rushedthrough his mind and out again, even as the grey mist-curtain closedonce more. 

He reached the bungalow. It stood like a shrouded ghost, and the drip, drip, drip of the rain on the veranda came to him like a death-knell. 

A gaunt figure met him almost on the threshold, and he recognized hismessenger with a sharp sense of coming disaster. The man stood mutely atthe salute. 

"Well? Well? Speak!" he ordered, nearly beside himself with anxiety. "Why didn't you come back with an answer?"

The man spoke with deep submission. "_Sahib_, there was no answer. "

"What do you mean by that? What the--

Here, let me pass!" cried Merryon, in a ferment. "There must havebeen--some sort of answer. "

"No, _sahib_. No answer. " The man spoke with inscrutable composure. "The_mem-sahib_ has not come back, " he said. "Let the _sahib_ see forhimself. "

But Merryon had already burst into the bungalow; so he resumed hispatient watch on the veranda, wholly undisturbed, supremely patient. 

The _khitmutgar_ came forward at his master's noisy entrance. There wasa trace--just the shadow of a suggestion--of anxiety on his dignifiedface under the snow-white turban. He presented him with a note on asalver with a few murmured words and a deep salaam. 

"For the _sahib's_ hands alone, " he said. 

Merryon snatched up the note and opened it with shaking hands. 

It was very brief, pathetically so, and as he read a great emptinessseemed to spread and spread around him in an ever-widening desolation. 

"Good-bye, my Billikins!" Ah, the pitiful, childish scrawl she had madeof it! "I've come to my senses, and I've gone back to him. I'm notworthy of any sacrifice of yours, dear. And it would have been a bigsacrifice. You wouldn't like being dragged through the mud, but I'm usedto it. It came to me just that moment that you said, 'Yes, of course, 'when Mr. Harley came to call you back to duty. Duty is better than aworthless woman, my Billikins, and I was never fit to be anything morethan a toy to you--a toy to play with and toss aside. And so good-bye, good-bye!"

The scrawl ended with a little cross at the bottom of the page. Helooked up from it with eyes gone blind with pain and a stunned and awfulsense of loss. 

"When did the _mem-sahib_ go?" he questioned, dully. 

The _khitmutgar_ bent his stately person. "The _mem-sahib_ went inhaste, " he said, "an hour before midnight. Your servant followed her tothe _dâk-bungalow_ to protect her from _budmashes_, but she dismissed meere she entered in. _Sahib_, I could do no more. "

The man's eyes appealed for one instant, but fell the next before thedumb despair that looked out of his master's. 

There fell a terrible silence--a pause, as it were, of suspendedvitality, while the iron bit deeper and deeper into tissues too numbedto feel. 

Then, "Fetch me a drink!" said Merryon, curtly. "I must be getting backto duty. "

And with soundless promptitude the man withdrew, thankful to make hisescape. 

CHAPTER XI

THE SACRED FIRE

"Well? Is she all right?" Almost angrily the colonel flung the questionas his second-in-command came back heavy-footed through the rain. He hadbeen through a nasty period of suspense himself during Merryon'sabsence. 

Merryon nodded. His face was very pale and his lips seemed stiff. 

"She has--gone, sir, " he managed to say, after a moment. 

"Gone, has she?" The colonel raised his brows in astonishedinterrogation. "What! Taken fright at last? Well, best thing she coulddo, all things considered. You ought to be very thankful. "

He dismissed the subject for more pressing matters, and he never noticedthe awful whiteness of Merryon's face or the deadly fixity of his look. 

Macfarlane noticed both, coming up two hours later to report the deathof one of the officers at the bungalow. 

"For Heaven's sake, man, have some brandy!" he said, proffering a flaskof his own. "You're looking pretty unhealthy. What is it? Feeling a bitoff, eh?"

He held Merryon's wrist while he drank the brandy, regarding him with atroubled frown the while. 

"What is the matter with you, man?" he said. "You're not frighteningyourself? You wouldn't be such a fool!"

Merryon did not answer. He was never voluble. To-day he seemedtongue-tied. 

Macfarlane continued with an uneasy effort to hide a certain doubtstirring in his mind. "I hear there was a European died at the_dâk-bungalow_ early this morning. I wanted to go round and see, but Ihaven't been able. It's fairly widespread, but there's no sense ingetting scared. Halloa, Merryon!"

He broke off, staring. Merryon had given a great start. He looked like aman stabbed suddenly from a dream to full consciousness. 

"A European--at the _dâk-bungalow_--dead, did you say?"

His words tumbled over each other; he gripped Macfarlane's shoulder andshook it with fierce impatience. 

"So I heard. I don't know any details. How should I? Merryon, are youmad?" Macfarlane put up a quick hand to free himself, for the grip waspainful. "He wasn't a friend of yours, I suppose? He wouldn't have beenputting up there if he had been. "

"No, no; not--a friend. " The words came jerkily. Merryon was breathingin great spasms that shook him from head to foot. "Not--a friend!" hesaid again, and stopped, gazing before him with eyes curiouslycontracted as the eyes of one striving to discern something a long wayoff. 

Macfarlane slipped a hand under his elbow. "Look here, " he said, "youmust have a rest. You can be spared for a bit now. Walk back with me tothe hospital, and we will see how things are going there. "

His hand closed urgently. He began to draw him away. 

Merryon's eyes came back as it were out of space, and gave him a quickside-glance that was like the turn of a rapier. "I must go down to the_dâk-bungalow_, " he said, with decision. 

Swift protest rose to the doctor's lips, but it died there. He tightenedhis hold instead, and went with him. 

The colonel looked round sharply at their approach, looked--and sworeunder his breath. "Yes, all right, major, you'd better go, " he said. "Good-bye. "

Merryon essayed a grim smile, but his ashen face only twistedconvulsively, showing his set teeth. He hung on Macfarlane's shoulderwhile the first black cloud of agony possessed him and slowly passed. 

Then, white and shaking, he stood up. "I'll get round to the _dâk_ now, before I'm any worse. Don't come with me, Macfarlane! I'll take anorderly. "

"I'm coming, " said Macfarlane, stoutly. 

But they did not get to the _dâk-bungalow_, or anywhere near it. Beforethey had covered twenty yards another frightful spasm of pain came uponMerryon, racking his whole being, depriving him of all his powers, wresting from him every faculty save that of suffering. He went downinto a darkness that swallowed him, soul and body, blotting out allfinite things, loosening his frantic clutch on life, sucking him down asit were into a frightful emptiness, where his only certainty ofexistence lay in the excruciating agonies that tore and convulsed himlike devils in some inferno under the earth. 

Of time and place and circumstance thereafter he became as completelyunconscious as though they had ceased to be, though once or twice he wasaware of a merciful hand that gave him opium to deaden--or was it onlyto prolong?--his suffering. And ĉons and eternities passed over himwhile he lay in the rigour of perpetual torments, not trying to escape, only writhing in futile anguish in the bitter dark of the prison-house. 

Later, very much later, there came a time when the torture graduallyceased or became merged in a deathly coldness. During that stage hisunderstanding began to come back to him like the light of a dying day. Avague and dreadful sense of loss began to oppress him, a feeling ofnakedness as though the soul of him were already slipping free, passinginto an appalling void, leaving an appalling void behind. He lay quitehelpless and sinking, sinking--slowly, terribly sinking into anoverwhelming sea of annihilation. 

With all that was left of his failing strength he strove to cling tothat dim light which he knew for his own individuality. The silence andthe darkness broke over him in long, soundless waves; but each time heemerged again, cold, cold as death, but still aware of self, aware ofexistence, albeit the world he knew had dwindled to an infinitesimalsmallness, as an object very far away, and floating ever farther andfarther from his ken. 

Vague paroxysms of pain still seized him from time to time, but they nolonger affected him in the same way. The body alone agonized. The soulstood apart on the edge of that dreadful sea, shrinking afraid from theblack, black depths and the cruel cold of the eternal night. He wasterribly, crushingly alone. 

Someone had once, twice, asked him a vital question about his belief inGod. Then he had been warmly alive. He had held his wife close in hisarms, and nothing else had mattered. But now--but now--he was very farfrom warmth and life. He was dying in loneliness. He was perishing inthe outer dark, where no hand might reach and no voice console. He hadbelieved--or thought he believed--in God. But now his faith was wearingvery thin. Very soon it would crumble quite away, just as he himself wascrumbling into the dreadful silence of the ages. His life--the briefpassion called life--was over. Out of the dark it had come; into thedark it went. And no one to care--no one to cry farewell to him acrossthat desolation of emptiness that was death! No one to kneel beside himand pray for light in that awful, all-encompassing dark!

Stay! Something had touched him even then. Or was it but his dyingfancy? Red lips he had kissed and that had kissed him in return, eagerarms that had clung and clung, eyes of burning adoration! Did they trulybelong all to the past? Or were they here beside him even now--even now?Had he wandered backwards perchance into that strange, sweet heaven oflove from which he had been so suddenly and terribly cast out? Ah, howhe had loved her! How he had loved her! Very faintly there began to stirwithin him the old fiery longing that she, and she alone, had ever wakedwithin him. He would worship her to the last flicker of his dying soul. But the darkness was spreading, spreading, like a yawning of a greatgulf at his feet. Already he was slipping over the edge. The light wasfading out of his sky. 

It was the last dim instinct of nature that made him reach out agroping hand, and with lips that would scarcely move to whisper, "Puck!"

He did not expect an answer. The things of earth were done with. Hislife was passing swiftly, swiftly, like the sands running out of aglass. He had lost her already, and the world had sunk away, away, withall warmth and light and love. 

Yet out of the darkness all suddenly there came a voice, eager, passionate, persistent. "I am here, Billikins! I am here! Come back tome, darling! Come back!"

He started at that voice, started and paused, holding back as it were onthe very verge of the precipice. So she was there indeed! He could hearher sobbing breath. There came to him the consciousness of her handsclasping his, and the faintest, vaguest glow went through his ice-coldbody. He tried, piteously weak as he was, to bend his fingers abouthers. 

And then there came the warmth of her lips upon them, kissing them witha fierce passion of tenderness, drawing them close as if to breathe herown vitality into his failing pulses. 

"Open your eyes to me, darling!" she besought him. "See how I love you!And see how I want your love! I can't do without it, Billikins. It's myonly safeguard. What! He is dead? I say he is not--he is not! Or if heis, he shall rise again. He shall come back. See! He is looking at me!How dare you say he is dead?"

The wild anguish of her voice reached him, pierced him, rousing him asno other power on earth could have roused him. Out of that deathlyinertia he drew himself, inch by inch, as out of some clinging swamp. His hand found strength to tighten upon hers. He opened his eyes, leaden-lidded as they were, and saw her face all white and drawn, gazinginto his own with such an agony of love, such a consuming fire ofworship, that it seemed as if his whole being were drawn by it, warmed, comforted, revived. 

She hung above him, fierce in her devotion, driving back the destroyerby the sheer burning intensity of her love. "You shan't die, Billikins!"she told him, passionately. "You can't die--now I am here!"

She stooped her face to his. He turned his lips instinctively to meetit, and suddenly it was as though a flame had kindled between them--hot, ardent, compelling. His dying pulses thrilled to it, his blood ranwarmer. 

"You--have--come--back!" he said, with slow articulation. 

"My darling--my darling!" she made quivering answer. "Say I've come--intime!"

He tried to speak again, but could not. Yet the deathly cold was givingway like ice before the sun. He could feel his heart beating wherebefore he had felt nothing. A hand that was not Puck's came out of thevoid beyond her and held a spoonful of spirit to his mouth. He swallowedit with difficulty, and was conscious of a greater warmth. 

"There, my own boy, my own boy!" she murmured over him. "You're comingback to me. Say you're coming back!"

His lips quivered like a child's. He forced them to answer her. "Ifyou--will--stay, " he said. 

"I will never leave you again, darling, " she made swift answer. "Never, never again! You shall have all that you want--all--all!"

Her arms closed about him. He felt the warmth of her body, thepassionate nearness of her soul; and therewith the flame that hadkindled between them leaped to a great and burning glow, encompassingthem both--the Sacred Fire. 

A wonderful sense of comfort came upon him. He turned to her as a manturns to only one woman in all the world, and laid his head upon herbreast. 

"I only want--my wife, " he said. 

CHAPTER XII

FREEDOM

It took him many days to climb back up that slope down which he hadslipped so swiftly in those few awful hours. Very slowly, with painfuleffort, but with unfailing purpose, he made his arduous way. And throughit all Puck never left his side. 

Alert and vigilant, very full of courage, very quick of understanding, she drew him, leaning on her, back to a life that had become strangelynew to them both. They talked very little, for Merryon's strength wasterribly low, and Macfarlane, still scarcely believing in the miraclethat had been wrought under his eyes, forbade all but the simplest andbriefest speech--a prohibition which Puck strenuously observed; forPuck, though she knew the miracle for an accomplished fact, was nottaking any chances. 

"Presently, darling; when you're stronger, " was her invariable answer toany attempt on his part to elicit information as to the events that hadimmediately preceded his seizure. "There's nothing left to fret about. You're here--and I'm here. And that's all that matters. "

If her lips quivered a little over the last assertion, she turned herhead away that he might not see. For she was persistently cheery in hispresence, full of tender humour, always undismayed. 

He leaned upon her instinctively. She propped him so sturdily, with astrength so amazing and so steadfast. Sometimes she laughed softly athis weakness, as a mother might laugh at the first puny efforts of herbaby to stand alone. And he knew that she loved his dependence upon her, even in a sense dreaded the time when his own strength should reassertitself, making hers weak by comparison. 

But that time was coming, slowly yet very surely. The rains werelessening at last, and the cholera-fiend had been driven forth. Merryonwas to go to the Hills on sick leave for several weeks. Colonel Davenanthad awaked to the fact that his life was a valuable one, and hisadmiration for Mrs. Merryon was undisguised. He did not altogetherunderstand her behaviour, but he was discreet enough not to seek thatenlightenment which only one man in the world was ever to receive. 

To that man on the night before their departure came Puck, very pale andresolute, with shining, unwavering eyes. She knelt down before him withsmall hands tightly clasped. 

"I'm going to say something dreadful, Billikins, " she said. 

He looked at her for a moment or two in silence. 

Then, "I know what you are going to say, " he said. 

She shook her head. "Oh, no, you don't, darling. It's something that'llmake you frightfully angry. "

The faintest gleam of a smile crossed Merryon's face. "With you?" hesaid. 

She nodded, and suddenly her eyes were brimming with tears. "Yes, withme. "

He put his hand on her shoulder. "I tell you, I know what it is, " hesaid, with a certain stubbornness. 

She turned her cheek for a moment to caress the hand; then suddenly allher strength went from her. She sank down on the floor at his feet, huddled together in a woeful heap, just as she had been on that firstnight when the safety-curtain had dropped behind her. 

"You'll never forgive me!" she sobbed. "But I knew--I knew--I alwaysknew!"

"Knew what, child?" He was stooping over her. His hand, trembling stillwith weakness, was on her head. "But, no, don't tell me!" he said, andhis voice was deeply tender. "The fellow is dead, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, he's dead. " Quiveringly, between piteous sobs, she answeredhim. "He--was dying before I reached him--that dreadful night. Hejust--had strength left--to curse me! And I am cursed! I am cursed!"

She flung out her arms wildly, clasping his feet. 

He stooped lower over her. "Hush--hush!" he said. 

She did not seem to hear. "I let you take me--I stained your honour--Iwasn't a free woman. I tried to think I was; but in my heart--I alwaysknew--I always knew! I wouldn't have your love at first--because I knew. And I came to you--that monsoon night--chiefly because--I wanted--whenhe came after me--as I knew he would come--to force him--to setme--free. "

Through bitter sobbing the confession came; in bitter sobbing it ended. 

But still Merryon's hand was on her head, still his face was bent aboveher, grave and sad and pitiful, the face of a strong man enduring grief. 

After a little, haltingly, she spoke again. "And I wasn't coming back toyou--ever. Only--someone--a _syce_--told me you had been stricken down. And then I had to come. I couldn't leave you to die. That's all--that'sall! I'm going now. And I shan't come back. I'm not--your wife. You'requite, quite free. And I'll never--bring shame on you--again. "

Her straining hands tightened. She kissed, the feet she clasped. "I'm awicked, wicked woman, " she said. "I was born--on the wrong side--of thesafety-curtain. That's no--excuse; only--to make you understand. "

She would have withdrawn herself then, but his hands held her. Shecovered her face, kneeling between them. 

"Why do you want me to understand?" he said, his voice very low. 

She quivered at the question, making no attempt to answer, just weepingsilently there in his hold. 

He leaned towards her, albeit he was trembling with weakness. "Puck, listen!" he said. "I do understand. "

She caught her breath and became quite still. 

"Listen again!" he said. "What is done--is done; and nothing can alterit. But--your future is mine. You have forfeited the right to leave me. "

She uncovered her face in a flash to gaze at him as one confounded. 

He met the look with eyes that held her own. "I say it, " he said. "Youhave forfeited the right. You say I am free. Am I free?"

She nodded, still with her eyes on his. "I have--no claim on you, " shewhispered, brokenly. 

His hands tightened; he brought her nearer to him. "And when that dreamof yours comes true, " he said, "what then? What then?"

Her face quivered painfully at the question. She swallowed once or twicespasmodically, like a hurt child trying not to cry. 

"That's--nobody's business but mine, " she said. 

A very curious smile drew Merryon's mouth. "I thought I had hadsomething to do with it, " he said. "I think I am entitled topart-ownership, anyway. "

She shook her head, albeit she was very close to his breast. "You'renot, Billikins!" she declared, with vehemence. "You only say that--outof pity. And I don't want pity. I--I'd rather you hated me than that!Miles rather!"

His arms went round her. He uttered a queer, passionate laugh and drewher to his heart. "And what if I offer you--love?" he said. "Have you nouse for that either, my wife--my wife?"

She turned and clung to him, clung fast and desperately, as a drowningperson clings to a spar. "But I'm not, Billikins! I'm not!" shewhispered, with her face hidden. 

"You shall be, " he made steadfast answer. "Before God you shall be. "

"Ah, do you believe in God?" she murmured. 

"I do, " he said, firmly. 

She gave a little sob. "Oh, Billikins, so do I. At least, I think I do;but I'm half afraid, even now, though I did try to do--the right thing. I shall only know for certain--when the dream comes true. " Her face cameupwards, her lips moved softly against his neck. "Darling, " shewhispered, "don't you hope--it'll be--a boy?"

He bent his head mutely. Somehow speech was difficult. 

But Puck was not wanting speech of him just then. She turned her redlips to his. "But even if it's a girl, darling, it won't matter, forshe'll be born on the right side of the safety-curtain now, thanks toyour goodness, your generosity. "

He stopped her sharply. "Puck! Puck!"

Their lips met. Puck was sobbing a little and smiling at the same time. 

"Your love is the safety-curtain, Billikins darling, " she whispered, softly. "And I'm going to thank God for it--every day of my life. "

"My darling!" he said. "My wife!"

Her eyes shone up to his through tears. "Oh, do you realize, " she said, "that we have risen from the dead?"

The Experiment

CHAPTER I

ON TRIAL

"I really don't know why I accepted him. But somehow it was done beforeI knew. He waltzes so divinely that it intoxicates me, and then Inaturally cease to be responsible for my actions. "

Doris Fielding leant back luxuriously, her hands clasped behind herhead. 

"I can't think what he wants to marry me for, " she said reflectively. "Iam quite sure I don't want to marry him. "

"Then, my dear child, what possessed you to accept him?" remonstratedher friend, Vera Abingdon, from behind the tea-table. 

"That's just what I don't know, " said Doris, a little smile twitchingthe corner of her mouth. "However, it doesn't signify greatly. I don'tmind being engaged for a little while if he is good, but I certainlyshan't go on if I don't like it. It's in the nature of an experiment, you see; and it really is necessary, for there is absolutely no otherway of testing the situation. "

She glanced at her friend and burst into a gay peal of laughter. No oneknew how utterly charming this girl could be till she laughed. 

"Oh, don't look so shocked, please!" she begged. "I know I'm flippant, flighty, and foolish, but really I'm not a bit wicked. Ask Phil if I am. He has known me all my life. "

"I do not need to ask him, Dot. " Vera spoke with some gravitynotwithstanding. "I have never for a moment thought you wicked. But I dosometimes think you are rather heartless. "

Doris opened her blue eyes wide. 

"Oh, why? I am sure I am not. It really isn't my fault that I have beenengaged two or three times before. Directly I begin to get pleasantlyintimate with any one he proposes, and how can I possibly know, unless Iam on terms of intimacy, whether I should like to marry him or not? I amsure I don't want to be engaged to any one for any length of time. It'sas bad as being cast up on a desert island with only one wretched man tospeak to. As a matter of fact, what you call heartlessness is sheerbroad-mindedness on my part. I admit that I do occasionally sail nearthe wind. It's fun, and I like it. But I never do any harm--any realharm I mean. I always put my helm over in time. And I must protectmyself somehow against fortune-hunters. "

Vera was silent. This high-spirited young cousin of her husband's wasoften a sore anxiety to her. She had had sole charge of the girl for thepast three years and had found it no light responsibility. 

"Cheer up, darling!" besought Doris. "There is not the smallest causefor a wrinkled brow. Perhaps the experiment will turn out a success thistime. Who knows? And even if it doesn't, no one will be any the worse. Iam sure Vivian Caryl will never break his heart for me. "

But Vera Abingdon shook her head. 

"I don't like you to be so wild, Dot. It makes people think lightly ofyou. And you know how angry Phil was last time. "

Dot snapped her fingers airily and rose. 

"Who cares for Phil? Besides, it really was not my fault last time, whatever any one may say. Are you going to ask my _fiancé_ down toRivermead for Easter? Because if so, I do beg you won't tell everybodywe are engaged. It is quite an informal arrangement, and perhaps, considering all the circumstances, the less said about it the better. "

She stopped and kissed Vera's grave face, laughed again as though shecould not help it, and flitted like a butterfly from the room. 

CHAPTER II

HIS INTENTIONS

"Where is Doris?" asked Phil Abingdon, looking round upon the guestsassembled in his drawing-room at Rivermead. "We are all waiting forher. "

"I think we had better go in without her, " said his wife, with hernervous smile. "She arranged to motor down with Mrs. Lockyard and herparty this afternoon. Possibly they have persuaded her to dine withthem. "

"She would never do that surely, " said Phil, with an involuntary glanceat Vivian Caryl who had just entered. 

"If you are talking about my _fiancé_, I think it more than probablethat she would, " the latter remarked. "Mrs. Lockyard's place is justacross the river, I understand? Shall I punt over and fetch Doris?"

"No, no!" broke in his hostess anxiously. "I am sure she wouldn't comeif you did. Besides--"

"Oh, as to that, " said Vivian Caryl, with a grim smile, "I think, withall deference to your opinion, that the odds would be in my favour. However, let us dine first, if you prefer it. "

Mrs. Abingdon did prefer it, and said so hastily. She seemed to have amorbid dread of a rupture between Doris Fielding and her _fiancé_, afeeling with which Caryl quite obviously had no sympathy. There wasnothing very remarkable about the man save this somewhat superciliousdemeanour which had caused Vera to marvel many times at Doris's choice. 

They went in to dinner without further discussion. Caryl sat on Vera'sleft, and amazed her by his utter unconcern regarding the absentee. Heseemed to be in excellent spirits, and his dry humour provoked a gooddeal of merriment. 

She led the way back to the drawing-room as soon as possible. There wasa billiard-room beyond to which the members of her party speedily betookthemselves, and here most of the men joined them soon after. NeitherCaryl nor Abingdon was with them, and Vera counted the minutes of theirabsence with a sinking heart while her guests buzzed all unheedingaround her. 

It was close upon ten o'clock when she saw her husband's face for amoment in the doorway. He made a rapid sign to her, and with a murmuredexcuse she went to him, closing the door behind her. 

Caryl was standing with him, calm as ever, though she fancied that hiseyes were a little wider than usual and his bearing less supercilious. 

Her husband, she saw at a glance, was both angry and agitated. 

"She has gone off somewhere with that bounder Brandon, " he said. "Theygot down to tea, and went off again in the motor afterwards, Mrs. Lockyard doesn't seem to know for certain where. "

"Phil!" she exclaimed in consternation, and added with her eyes onCaryl, "What is to be done? What can be done?"

Caryl made quiet reply:

"There was some talk of Wynhampton. I am going there now on yourhusband's motor-bicycle. If I do not find her there----"

He paused, and on the instant a girl's high peal of laughter rangthrough the house. The drawing-room door was flung back, and Dorisherself stood on the threshold. 

"Goodness!" she cried. "What a solemn conclave! You can't think howfunny you all look! Do tell me what it is all about!"

She stood before them, the motor-veil thrown back from her dainty face, her slight figure quivering with merriment. 

Vera hastened to meet her with outstretched hands. 

"Oh, my dear, you can't think how anxious we have been about you. "

Doris took her by the shoulders and lightly kissed her. 

"Silly! Why? You know I always come up smiling. Why, Phil, you arelooking positively green! Have you been anxious, too? I am indeedhonoured. "

She swept him a curtsey, her face all dimples and laughter. 

"We've had the jolliest time, " she declared. "We motored to Wynhamptonand saw the last of the races. After that, we dined at a dear littleplace with a duckpond at the bottom of the garden. And finally wereturned--it ought to have been by moonlight, only there was no moon. Where is everyone? In the billiard-room? I want some milk and sodafrightfully. Vivian, you might, like the good sort you are, go and getme some. "

She bestowed a dazzling smile upon her _fiancé_ and offered him onefinger by way of salutation. 

Abingdon, who had been waiting to get in a word, here exploded with someviolence and told his young cousin in no measured terms what he thoughtof her conduct. 

She listened with her head on one side, her eyes brimful of mischief, and finally with an airy gesture turned to Caryl. 

"Don't you want to scold me, too? I am sure you do. You had better bequick or there will be nothing left to say. "

Abingdon turned on his heel and walked away. He was thoroughly angry andmade no attempt to hide it. His wife lingered a moment irresolute, thensoftly followed him. And as the door closed, Caryl looked very steadilyinto the girl's flushed face and spoke:

"All I have to say is this. Maurice Brandon is no fit escort for anywoman who values her reputation. And I here and now forbid you moststrictly, most emphatically, ever to go out with him alone again. "

He paused. She was looking straight back at him with her chin in theair. 

"Dear me!" she said. "Do you really? And who gave you the right todictate to me?"

"You yourself, " he answered quietly. 

"Indeed! May I ask when?"

He stiffened a little, but his face did not alter. 

"When you promised to be my wife, " he said. 

Her eyes blazed instant defiance. 

"An engagement can be broken off!" she declared recklessly. 

"By mutual consent, " said Caryl drily. 

"That is absurd, " she rejoined. "You couldn't possibly hold me to itagainst my will. "

"I am quite capable of doing so, " he told her coolly, "if I think itworth my while. "

"Worth your while!" she exclaimed, staring at him as if she doubted hissanity. 

"Even so, " he said. "When I have fully satisfied myself that a heartlesslittle flirt like you can be transformed into a virtuous and amiablewife. It may prove a difficult process, I admit, and perhaps notaltogether a pleasant one. But I shall not shirk it on that account. "

He leant back against the mantelpiece with a gesture that plainly saidthat so far as he was concerned the matter was ended. 

But it was not so with Doris. She stood before him for several secondsabsolutely motionless, all the vivid colour gone from her face, her blueeyes blazing with speechless fury. At length, with a sudden, fiercemovement, she tore the ring he had given her from her finger and held itout to him. 

"Take it!" she said, her voice high-pitched and tremulous. "This is theend!"

He did not stir a muscle. 

"Not yet, I think, " he said. 

She flashed a single glance at him in which pride and uncertainty werestrangely mingled, then made a sudden swoop towards the fire. He readher intention in a second, and stooping swiftly caught her hand. Thering shot from her hold, gleamed in a shining curve in the firelight, and fell with a tinkle among the ashes of the fender. 

Caryl did not utter a word, but his face was fixed and grim as, stilltightly gripping the hand he had caught, he knelt and groped among thehalf-dead embers for the ring it had wantonly flung there. When he foundit he rose. 

"Before you do anything of that sort again, " he said, "let me advise youto stop and think. It will do you no harm, and may save trouble. "

He took her left hand, paused a moment, and then deliberately fitted thering back upon her finger. She made no resistance, for she wasinstinctively aware that he would brook no morefrom her just then. Shewas in fact horribly scared, though his voice was still perfectly quietand even. Something in his touch had set her heart beating, somethingelectric, something terrifying. She dared not meet his eyes. 

He dropped her hand almost contemptuously. There was nothing lover-likeabout him at that moment. 

"And remember, " he said, "that no experiment can ever prove a successunless it is given a fair trial. You will continue to be engaged to meuntil I set you free. Is that understood?"

She did not answer him. She was pulling at the loose ends of her veilwith restless fingers, her face downcast and very pale. 

"Doris!" he said. 

She glanced up at him sharply. 

"I am rather tired, " she said, and her voice quivered a little. "Do youmind if I say good-night?"

"Answer me first, " he said. 

She shook her head. 

"I forget what you asked me. It doesn't matter, does it? There's someonecoming, and I don't want to be caught. Good-night!"

She whisked round with the words before he could realize her intention, and in a moment was at the door. She waved a hand to him airily as shedisappeared. And Caryl was left to wonder if her somewhat precipitatedeparture could be regarded as a sign of defeat or merely a postponementof the struggle. 

CHAPTER III

THE KNIGHT ERRANT

It was the afternoon of Easter Day, and a marvellous peace lay upon allthings. 

Maurice Brandon, a look of supreme boredom on his handsome face, hadjust sauntered down to the river bank. A belt of daffodils nodded to himfrom the shrubbery on the farther shore. He stood and stared at themabsently while he idly smoked a cigarette. 

Finally, after a long and quite unprofitable inspection, he turned asideto investigate a boathouse under the willows on Mrs. Lockyard's side ofthe stream. He found the door unlocked, and discovered within a somewhatdilapidated punt. This, after considerable exertion, he managed to dragforth and finally to run into the water. The craft seemed seaworthy, andhe proceeded to forage for a punt-pole. 

Fully equipped at length, he stepped on board and poled himself out fromthe shore. Arrived at the farther bank, he calmly disembarked and tiedup under the willows. He paused a few seconds to light anothercigarette, then turned from the river and sauntered up the path betweenthe high box hedges. 

The garden was deserted, and he pursued his way unmolested till he camewithin sight of the house. Here for the first time he stopped to takedeliberate stock of his surroundings. Standing in the shelter of a giantrhododendron, he saw two figures emerge and walk along the narrowgravelled terrace before the house. As he watched, they reached thefarther end and turned. He recognized them both. They were Caryl and hishost Abingdon. 

For a few moments they stood talking, then went away together round anangle of the house. 

Scarcely had they disappeared before a girl's light figure appeared atan upstairs window. Doris's mischievous face peeped forth, wearing hergayest, most impudent grimace. 

There was no one else in sight, and with instant decision Brandonstepped into full view, and without the faintest suggestion ofconcealment began to stroll up the winding path. 

She heard his footsteps on the gravel, and turned her eyes upon him witha swift start of recognition. 

He raised his hand in airy salute, and he heard her low murmur oflaughter as she waved him a hasty sign to await her in the shrubberyfrom which he had just emerged. 

 * * * * *

"Did you actually come across the river?" said Doris. "Whatever madeyou do that?"

"I said I should come and fetch you, you know, if you didn't turn up, "he said. 

She laughed. 

"Do you always keep your word?"

"To you--always, " he assured her. 

Her merry face coloured a little, but she met his eyes with absolutecandour. 

"And now that you have come what can we do? Are you going to take me onthe river? It looks rather dangerous. "

"It is dangerous, " Brandon said coolly, "but I think I can get you overin safety if you will allow me to try. In any case, I won't let youdrown. "

"I shall be furious if anything happens, " she told him--"if you splashme even. So beware!"

He pushed out from the bank with a laugh. It was evident that her threatdid not greatly impress him. 

As for Doris, she was evidently enjoying the adventure, and the risksthat attended it only added to its charm. There was something about thisman that fascinated her, a freedom and a daring to which her ownreckless spirit could not fail to respond. He was the most interestingplaything she had had for a long time. She had no fear that he wouldever make the mistake of taking her seriously. 

They reached the opposite bank in safety, and he handed her ashore withconsiderable _empressement_. 

"I have a confession to make, " he said, as they walked up to the house. 

"Oh, I know what it is, " she returned carelessly. "Mrs. Lockyard did notexpect me and has gone out. "

He nodded. 

"You are taking it awfully well. One would almost think you didn'tmind. "

She laughed. 

"I never mind anything so long as I am not bored. "

"Nor do I, " said Brandon. "We seem to have a good deal in common. Butwhat puzzles me--"

He broke off. They had reached the open French window that led into Mrs. Lockyard's drawing-room. He stood aside for her to enter. 

"Well?" she said, as she passed him. "What is this weighty problem?"

He followed her in. 

"What puzzles me, " he said, "is how a girl with your naturalindependence and love of freedom can endure to remain unmarried. "

She opened her eyes wide in astonishment. 

"My good sir, you have expressed the exact reason in words which couldnot have been better chosen. Independence, love of freedom, and a verystrong preference for going my own way. "

He laughed a little. 

"Yes, but you would have all these things a thousand times multiplied ifyou were married. 

Look at all the restraints and restrictions to which girls aresubjected where married women simply please themselves. Why, you areabsolutely hedged round with conventions. You can scarcely go for a ridewith a man of your acquaintance in broad daylight without endangeringyour reputation. What would they say--your cousin and Mrs. Abingdon--ifthey knew that you were here with me now? They would hold up their handsin horror. "

The girl's thoughts flashed suddenly to Caryl. How much freedom mightshe expect from him?

"It's all very well, " she said, with a touch of petulance, "buteasy-going husbands don't grow on every gooseberry-bush. I have neveryet met the man who wouldn't want to arrange my life in every detail ifI married him. "

"Yes, you have, " said Brandon. 

He spoke with deliberate emphasis, and she knew that as he spoke helooked at her in a manner that there could be no mistaking. Her heartquickened a little, and she felt the colour rise in her face. 

"Do you know that I am engaged to Vivian Caryl?" she said. 

"Perfectly, " he answered. "I also know that you have not the smallestintention of marrying him. "

She frowned, but did not contradict him. 

He continued with considerable assurance:

"He is not the man to make you happy, and I think you know it. My onlywonder is that you didn't realize it earlier--before you became engagedto him. "

"My engagement was only an experiment, " she said quickly. 

"And therefore easily broken, " he rejoined. "Why don't you put a stop toit?"

She hesitated. 

He bent towards her. 

"Do you mean to say that he is cad enough to hold you against yourwill?"

Still she hesitated, half-afraid to speak openly. 

He leant nearer; he took her hand. 

"My dear child, " he said, "don't for Heaven's sake give in to suchtyranny as that, and be made miserable for the rest of your life. Oh, Igrant you he is the sort of fellow who would make what is called a goodhusband, but not the sort of husband you want. He would keep you inorder, shackle you at every turn. Marry him, and it will be good-bye toliberty--even such liberty as you have now--forever. "

Her face had changed. She was very pale. 

"I know all that, " she said, speaking rapidly, with headlong impulse. "But, don't you see how difficult it is for me? They are all on hisside, and he is so horribly strong. Oh, I was a fool I know to accepthim. But we were waltzing and it came so suddenly. I never stopped tothink. I wish I could get away now, but I can't. "

"I can tell you of a way, " said Brandon. 

She glanced at him. 

"Oh, yes, I know. But I can't be engaged to two people at once. Icouldn't face it. I detest scenes. "

"There need be no scene, " he said. "You have only to come to me and giveme the right to defend you. I ask for nothing better. Even Caryl wouldscarcely have the impertinence to dispute it. As my wife you will beabsolutely secure from any interference. "

She was gazing at him wide-eyed. 

"Do you mean a runaway marriage?" she questioned slowly. 

He drew nearer still, and possessed himself of her hands. 

"Yes, just that, " he said. "It would take a little courage, but you haveplenty of that. And the rest I would see to. It wouldn't be so verydifficult, you know. Mrs. Lockyard would help us, and you would beabsolutely safe with me. I haven't much to offer you, I admit. I'm aspoor as a church mouse. But at least you would find me"--he smiled intoher startled eyes--"a very easy-going husband, I assure you. "

"Oh, I don't know!" Doris said. "I don't know!"

Yet still she left her hands in his and still she listened to him. Thatairy reference of his to his poverty affected her favourably. He wouldscarcely have made it, she told herself, with an unconscious effort tosilence unacknowledged misgivings, if her fortune had been the soleattraction. 

"Look here, " he said, breaking in upon these hasty meditations, "I don'twant you to do anything in a hurry. Take a little while to think itover. Let me know to-morrow. I am not leaving till the evening. Youshall do nothing, so far as I am concerned, against your will. I wantyou, now and always, to do exactly as you like. You believe that?"

"I quite believe you mean it at the present moment, " she said with adecidedly doubtful smile. 

"It will be so always, " said Brandon, "whether you believe it or not. "

And with considerable ceremony he raised her hands to his lips anddeliberately kissed them. It seemed to Doris at that moment that even soheadlong a scheme as this was not without its very material advantages. There were so many drawbacks to being betrothed. 

CHAPTER IV

AT CLOSE QUARTERS

When Doris descended to breakfast on the following morning she found ananimated party in the dining-room discussing the best means of spendingthe day. Abingdon himself and most of his guests were in favour ofattending an aviation meeting at Wynhampton a few miles away. 

Caryl was not present, but as she passed through the hall a littlelater, he came in at the front door. 

"I was just coming to you, " he remarked, pausing to flick the ash fromhis cigarette before closing the door. "I have been making arrangementsfor you to drive to Wynhampton with me. "

Doris made a stiff movement that seemed almost mechanical. But the nextmoment she recovered her self-control. Why was she afraid of this man, she asked herself desperately? No man had ever managed to frighten herbefore. 

"I think I should prefer to go in the motor, " she said, and smiled withquivering lips. "Get Phil to drive with you. He likes the dog-cartbetter than I do. "

"I have talked it over with him, " Caryl responded gravely. "He agreeswith me that this is the best arrangement. "

There was to be no escape then. Once more the stronger will prevailed. Without another word she turned from him and went upstairs. She mighthave defied him, but she knew in her heart that he could compass hisends in spite of her. And she was afraid. 

She had a moment of absolute panic as she mounted into the high cart. Hehanded her up, and his grasp, close and firm, seemed to her eloquent ofthat deadly resolution with which he mastered her. 

For the first half-mile he said nothing whatever, being fully occupiedwith the animal he was driving--a skittish young mare impatient ofrestraint. 

Doris on her side sat in unbroken silence, enduring the strain with aset face, dreading the moment when he should have leisure to speak. 

He was evidently in no hurry to do so. Or was it possible that he foundsome difficulty in choosing his words?

At length he turned his head and spoke. 

"I secured this interview, " he said, "because there is an importantpoint which I want to discuss with you. "

"What is it?"

She nerved herself to meet his look, but her eyes fell before its steadymastery almost instantly. 

"About our wedding, " he said in his calm, deliberate voice. "I shouldlike to have the day fixed. "

Her heart gave a great thump of dismay. 

"Do you really mean to hunt me down then and--and marry me against mywill?" she said, almost panting out the words. 

Caryl turned his eyes back to the mare. 

"I mean to marry you--yes, " he said. "I think you forget that youaccepted me of your own accord. "

"I was mad!" she broke in passionately. 

"People in love are never wholly sane, " he remarked cynically. 

"I was never in love with you!" she cried. "Never, never!"

He raised his eyebrows. 

"Nevertheless you will marry me, " he said. 

"Why?" she gasped back furiously. "Why should I marry you? You know Ihate you, and you--you--surely you must hate me?"

"No, " he said with extreme deliberation, "strange as it may seem, Idon't. "

Something in the words quelled her anger. Abruptly she abandoned thestruggle and fell silent, her face averted. 

"And so, " he proceeded, "we may as well decide upon the wedding-daywithout further argument. "

"And, if--if I refuse?" she murmured rather incoherently. 

"You will not refuse, " he said with a finality so absolute that herlast hope went out like an extinguished candle. 

She seized her courage with both hands and turned to him. 

"You will give me a little while to think it over?"

"Why?" said Caryl. 

"Because I--I can't possibly decide upon the spur of the moment, " shesaid confusedly. 

Was he going to refuse her even this small request? It almost seemedthat he was. 

"How long will it take you?" he asked. "Will you give me an answerto-night?"

Her heart leapt to a sudden hope called to life by his words. 

"To-morrow!" she said quickly. 

"I said to-night. "

"Very well, " she rejoined, yielding. "To-night, if you prefer it. "

"Thanks. I do. "

They were his last words on the subject. He seemed to think it endedthere, and there was nothing more to be said. 

As for Doris, she sat by his side, outwardly calm but inwardly shaken tothe depths. To be thus firmly caught in the meshes of her own net was anexperience so new and so terrifying that she was utterly at a loss as tohow to cope with it. Yet there was a chance, one ray of hope to helpher. There was Major Brandon, the man who had offered her freedom. Hewas to have his answer to-day. For the first time she began seriously toponder what that answer should be. 

CHAPTER V

THE WAY TO FREEDOM

So far as Doris was concerned the aviation meeting was not a success. There were some wonderful exhibitions of flying, but she was toopreoccupied to pay more than a very superficial attention to what shesaw. 

They lunched at a great hotel overlooking the aviation ground. The placewas crowded, and they experienced some difficulty in finding places. Eventually Doris found herself seated at a square table with Caryl andtwo others in the middle of the great room. 

She was studying a menu as a pretext for avoiding conversation with her_fiancé_, when a man's voice murmured hurriedly in her ear:

"Will you allow me for a moment please? The lady who has just left thistable thinks she must have dropped one of her gloves under it. "

Doris pushed back her chair and would have risen, but the speaker wasalready on his knees and laid a hasty, restraining hand upon her. Itfound hers and, under cover of the table-cloth, pressed a screw of paperinto her fingers. 

The next instant he emerged, very red in the face, but triumphant, alady's gauntlet glove in his hand. 

"Awfully obliged!" he declared. "Sorry to have disturbed you. Thought Ishould find it here. "

He smiled, bowed, and departed, leaving Doris amazed at his audacity. She had met this young man often at Mrs. Lockyard's house, where he wasinvariably referred to as "the little Fricker boy. "

She threw a furtive glance at Caryl, but he had plainly noticed nothing. With an uneasy sense of shame she slipped the note into her glove. 

She perused it on the earliest opportunity. It contained but onesentence:

"If you still wish for freedom, you can find it down by the river at anyhour to-night. "

There was no signature of any sort; none was needed, she hid the messageaway again, and for the rest of the afternoon she was almost feverishlygay to hide the turmoil of indecision at her heart. 

She saw little of Caryl after luncheon, but he re-appeared again in timeto drive her back in the dog-cart as they had come. She found him veryquiet and preoccupied, on the return journey, but his presence no longerdismayed her. It was the consciousness that a way of escape was open toher that emboldened her. 

They were nearing the end of the drive, when he at length laid aside hispreoccupation and spoke:

"Have you made up your mind yet?"

That query of his was the turning point with her. Had he shown thesmallest sign of relenting from his grim purpose, had he so much ascouched his question in terms of kindness, he might have melted her eventhen; for she was impulsive ever and quick to respond to any warmth. Butthe coldness of his question, the unyielding mastery of his manner, impelled her to final rebellion. In the moment that intervened betweenhis question and her reply her decision was made. 

"You shall have my answer to-night, " she said. 

He turned from her without a word, and a little wonder quivered throughher as to the meaning of his silence. She was glad when they reachedRivermead and she could take refuge in her own room. 

Here once more she read Brandon's message; read it with a thumpingheart, but no thought of drawing back. It was the only way out for her. 

She dressed for dinner, and then made a few hasty preparations for herflight. She laid no elaborate plans for effecting it, for sheanticipated no difficulty. The night would be dark, and she could relyupon her ingenuity for the rest. Failure was unthinkable. 

When they rose from the table she waited for Vera and slipped a handinto her arm. 

"Do make an excuse for me, " she whispered. "I have had a dreadful day, and I can't stand any more. I am going upstairs. "

"My dear!" murmured back Vera, by way of protest. 

Nevertheless she made the excuse almost as soon as they entered thedrawing-room, and Doris fled upstairs on winged feet. At the head shemet Caryl about to descend; almost collided with him. He had evidentlybeen up to his room to fetch something. 

He stood aside for her at once. 

"You are not retiring yet?" he asked. 

She scarcely glanced at him. She would not give herself time to bedisconcerted. 

"I am coming down again, " she said, and ran on. 

Barely a quarter of an hour after the encounter with Caryl, dressed in along dark motoring coat and closely veiled, she slipped down the backstairs that led to the servants' quarters, stood listening against abaize door that led into the front hall, then whisked it open and fledacross to open the conservatory door, noiseless as a shadow. 

The conservatory was in semi-darkness. She expected to see no one;looked for no one. A moment she paused by the door that led into thegarden, and in that pause she heard a slight sound. It might have beenanything. It probably was a creak from one of the wicker chairs thatstood in a corner. Whatever its origin, it startled her to greaterhaste. She fumbled at the door and pulled it open. 

A gust of wind and rain blew in upon her, but she was scarcely aware ofit. In another moment she had softly closed the door again and wasscudding across the terrace to the steps that led towards the riverpath. 

As she reached it a light shone out in front of her, wavered, and wasgone. 

"This way to freedom, lady mine, " said Brandon's voice close to her, andshe heard in it the laugh he did not utter. "Mind you don't tumble in. "

His hand touched her arm, closed upon it, drew her to his side. Inanother instant it encircled her, but she pushed him vehemently away. 

"Let us go!" she said feverishly. "Let us go!"

"Come along then, " he said gaily. "The boat is just here. You'll have tohold the lantern. Mind how you get on board. "

As he pushed out from the bank, he told her something of hisarrangements. 

"There's a motor waiting--not the one Polly usually hires, but it'squite a decent little car. By the way, she has gone straight up to Townfrom Wynhampton; said we should do our eloping best alone. We shan't bequite alone, though, for Fricker is going to drive us. But he's anegligible quantity, eh? His only virtue is that he isn't afraid ofdriving in the dark. "

"You will take me to Mrs. Lockyard?" said Doris quickly. 

"Of course. She is at her flat, she and Mrs. Fricker. We shall be theresoon after midnight, all being well. Confound this stream! It swirlslike a mill-race. "

He fell silent, and devoted all his attention to reaching the fartherbank. 

Doris sat with the lantern in her hands, striving desperately to controlher nervous excitement. Her absence could not have been discovered yet, she was sure, but she was in a fever of anxiety notwithstanding. Shewould not feel safe until she was actually on the road. 

The boat bumped at last against the bank, and she drew a breath ofrelief. The journey had seemed interminable. 

Suddenly through the windy darkness there came to them the hoot of amotor-horn. 

"That's all right, " said Brandon cheerily. "That's Fricker, wanting toknow if all's well. "

He hurried her over the wet grass, skirted the house by a side-path thatran between dripping laurels, and brought her out finally into thelittle front garden. 

A glare of acetylene lamps met them abruptly as they emerged, dazzlingthem for the moment. The buzz of a motor engine also greeted them, and asmell of petrol hung in the wet air. 

As her eyes accustomed themselves to the brightness, Doris made out asmall closed motor-car, with a masked chauffeur seated at the wheel. 

"Good little Fricker!" said Brandon, slapping the chauffeur's shoulderas he passed. "So you've got your steam up! Straight ahead then, and asfast as you like. Don't get run in, that's all. "

He handed Doris into the car, followed her, and slammed the door. 

The next moment they passed swiftly out on to the road, and Doris knewthat the die was cast. She stood finally committed to this, the wildest, most desperate venture of her life. 

CHAPTER VI

A MASTER STROKE

"Here beginneth, " laughed Brandon, sliding his arm around her as she sattense in every nerve gazing at the rain-blurred window. 

She did not heed him; it was almost as if she had not heard. Her handswere tightly clasped upon one another, and her face was turned from him. There was no lamp inside the car, the only illumination proceeding fromthose without, showing them the driver huddled over the wheel, butshedding little light into the interior. 

He tightened his arm about her, laying his other hand upon her claspedones. 

"By Jove, little girl, you're cold!" he said. 

She was--cold as ice. She parted her fingers stiffly to free them fromhis grasp. 

"I--I'm quite comfortable, " she assured him, without turning her head. "Please don't trouble about me. "

But he was not to be thus discouraged. 

"You can't be comfortable, " he argued. "Why, you're shivering. Let mesee what I can do to make things better. "

He tried to draw her to him, but she resisted almost angrily. 

"Oh, do leave me alone! I'm not uncomfortable. I'm only thinking. "

"Well, don't be silly!" he urged. "It's no use thinking at this stage. The thing is done now, and well done. We shall be man and wife by thistime to-morrow. We'll go to Paris, eh, and have no end of a spree. "

"Perhaps, " she said, not looking at him or yielding an inch to hispersuasion. 

It was plain that for some reason she desired to be left in peace, andafter a brief struggle with himself, Brandon decided that he would bewise to let her have her way. He leant back and crossed his arms insilence. 

The car sped along at a pace which he found highly satisfactory. He hadabsolute faith in Fricker's driving and knowledge of the roads. 

They had been travelling for the greater part of an hour, when Doris atlength relaxed from her tense attitude and lay back in her corner, nestling into it with a long shiver. 

Brandon was instantly on the alert. 

"I'm sure you are cold. Here's a rug here. Let me--"

"Oh, do please leave me alone!" she said, with a sob. "I'm so horriblytired. "

Beseechingly almost she laid her hand upon his arm with the words. 

The touch fired him. He considered that he had been patient longenough. Abruptly he caught her to him. 

"Come, I say, " he said, half-laughing, half in savage earnest, "I can'thave you crying on what's almost our wedding trip!"

He certainly did not expect the absolutely furious resistance with whichshe met his action. She thrust him from her with the strength of frenzy. 

"How dare you?" she cried passionately. "How dare you touch me, you--youhateful cad?"

For the moment, such was his astonishment, he suffered her to escapefrom his hold. Then, called into activity by her unreasoning fury, thedevil in him leapt suddenly up and took possession. With a snarlinglaugh he gripped her by the arms, holding her by brutal force. 

"You little wild cat!" he said in a voice that shook between anger andamusement. "So this is your gratitude, is it? I am to give all andreceive nothing for my pains. Then let me make it quite clear to youhere and now that that is not my intention. I will be kind to you, butyou must be kind to me, too. The benefit is to be mutual. "

It was premature. In his heart he knew it, but she had provoked him toit and there was no turning back now. He resented the provocation, thatwas all, and it made him the more brutally inclined towards her. 

As for Doris, she fought and tore at his grasp like a mad creature; andwhen he mastered her, when, still laughing between his teeth, he forcedher face upwards and kissed it fiercely and violently, she shriekedbetween his kisses, shrieked and shrieked again. 

The sudden grinding of the brake recalled Brandon to his senses. Thefool was actually stopping the car. He relinquished his hold upon thegirl to dash his hand against the window in front. 

"Drive on, curse you, drive on!" he shouted through the glass. "I'll letyou know if we want to stop. "

But the car stopped in spite of him. The chauffeur, shining from head tofoot in his oil-skins, sprang to the ground. A moment and he was at thedoor, had wrenched it open, and was peering within. 

"What are you gaping there for, you fool?" raved Brandon, his hand uponDoris, who was suddenly straining forward. "It's all right, I tell you. Go on. "

"I am going on, " the chauffeur responded calmly through his mask. "But Iam not taking you any farther, Major Brandon. So tumble out at once, youdirty, thieving hound!"

The words, the tone, the attitude, flashed such a revelation upon Doristhat she cried out in amazement, and then with a revulsion of feeling sogreat that it deprived her of all speech she threw herself forward andclung to the masked chauffeur in an agony of tears. 

Brandon was staring at him with dropped jaw. 

"Who the blazes are you?" he said. 

"You know me, I think, " the chauffeur responded quietly. He was pressingDoris back into her seat with absolute steadiness. "We have met before. I was present at your first wedding ten years ago, and--as a juniorcounsel--I helped to divorce you a few months after. My name is VivianCaryl. "

He freed a hand to push up his mask. His pale face with its heavy-liddedeyes stared, supremely contemptuous, into Brandon's suffusedcountenance. His composure was somehow disconcerting. 

"Suppose you get out, " he suggested. "I can talk to you then in alanguage you will understand. "

"Curse you!" bawled Brandon. "Where's Fricker?"

Caryl shrugged his shoulders. 

"You have seen him since I have. Are you going to get out? Ah, I thoughtyou would. "

He stood aside to allow him to do so, and then stepped back to shut thedoor. He did not utter a word to the girl cowering within, but thataction of his was a mute command. She crouched in the dark and listened, but she did not dare to follow or to flee. 

CHAPTER VII

THE MAN AT THE WHEEL

When Caryl came back to the motor his handkerchief was bound about theknuckles of his right hand, and his face wore a faint smile that had init more of grimness than humour. 

He paused at the open window and looked in on Doris without opening thedoor. The sound of the rain pattering heavily upon his shoulders filledin a silence that she found terrible. He spoke at length:

"You had better shut the window, the rain is coming in. "

That was all, spoken in his customary drawl without a hint of anger orreproach. They cut her hard, those few words of his. It was as if hedeemed her unworthy even of his contempt. 

She raised her white face. 

"What--are you going to do?" she managed to ask through her quiveringlips. 

"I am going to take you to the nearest town--to Bramfield to spend therest of the night. It is getting late, you know--past midnight already. "

"Bramfield!" she echoed with a start. "Then--then we have been goingnorth all this time?"

"We have been going north, " he said. 

She glanced around. Her eyes were hunted. 

"No, " said Caryl. "I haven't killed him. He is sitting under the hedgeabout fifty yards up the road, thinking things over. "

He opened the door then abruptly, and she held her breath and becamestill and tense with apprehension. But he only pulled up the window, closed the door again with a sharp click, and left her. When she daredto breathe again the car was in motion. 

She took no interest in her surroundings. Her destination had become amatter of such secondary importance that she gave it no considerationwhatever. What mattered, all that mattered, was that she was now in thehands and absolutely at the mercy of the man whom she feared as shefeared no one else on earth, the man with whom in her mad coquetry shehad dared to trifle. 

The car was stopping. It came to a standstill almost imperceptibly, andCaryl stepped into the road. Tensely she watched him; but he did not somuch as glance her way. He turned aside to a little gate in a high hedgeof laurel, and passed within, leaving her alone in the night. 

Soon she heard his deliberate footfalls returning. In a moment he hadreached the door, his hand was upon it. She turned stiffly towards himas it opened. 

He spoke at once in his calm, unmoved voice:

"A very old friend of mine lives here. She will put you up for thenight and see to your comfort. Will you get out?"

Mutely she did so, feeling curiously weak and unstrung. He put his armaround her, and led her into the dim cottage garden. 

They went up a tiled path to an open door from which the light of asingle candle gleamed fitfully in the draught. She stumbled at thedoorstep, but he held her up. He was almost carrying her. 

As they entered, an old woman, bent and indescribably wrinkled, rosefrom her knees before a deep old-fashioned fireplace on the other sideof the little kitchen, and came to meet them. She had evidently justcoaxed a dying fire back to life. 

"Ah, poor dear, " she said at sight of the girl's exhausted face. "Shelooks more dead than alive. Bring her to the fire, Master Vivian. I'llsoon have some hot milk for the poor lamb. "

Caryl led her to an arm-chair that stood on one side of the blaze, andmade her sit down. Then, stooping, he took one of her nerveless handsand held it closely in his own. 

He did not speak to her, and she was relieved by his forbearance. As thewarmth of his grasp gradually communicated itself to her numbed fingers, she felt her racing pulses grow steadier; but she was glad when he laidher hand down quietly in her lap and turned away. 

He bent over her again in a few minutes with a cup of steaming milk. She took it from him, tasted it, and shuddered. 

"There is brandy in it. "

"Yes, " said Caryl. 

She turned her head away. 

"I don't want it. I hate brandy. "

He put his hand on her shoulder. 

"You had better drink it all the same, " he said. 

She glanced at him, caught her breath sharply, then dumbly gave way. Hekept his hand upon her while she drank, and only removed it to take theempty cup. 

After that, standing gravely before her, he spoke again. 

"I am going on into the town now with the motor, and I shall put upthere. My old nurse will take care of you. I shall come back in themorning. "

CHAPTER VIII

THE SURRENDER OF THE CITADEL

Old Mrs. Maynard, sweeping her brick floor with wide-open door throughwhich the April sunlight streamed gloriously, nodded to herself a goodmany times over the doings of the night. A very discreet creature wasMrs. Maynard, faithful to the very heart of her, but she would not havebeen mortal had she not been intensely curious to know what were thecircumstances that had led Vivian Caryl to bring to her door thatshrinking, exhausted girl who still lay sleeping in the room above. 

When Doris awoke in response to her deferential knock, only thereticence of the trained servant greeted her. The motherliness of thenight before had completely vanished. 

Doris was glad of it. She had to steel herself for the coming interviewwith Caryl; she had to face the result of her headlong actions with asfirm a front as she could assume. She needed all her strength, and shecould not have borne sympathy just then. 

She thanked Mrs. Maynard for her attentions and saw her withdraw withrelief. Then, having nibbled very half-heartedly at the breakfastprovided, she arose with a great sigh, and began to prepare for whatevermight lie before her. 

Dressed at length, she sat down by the open window to wait--and wonder. 

The click of the garden gate fell suddenly across her meditations, andshe drew back sharply out of sight. He was entering. 

She heard his leisurely footfall on the tiles and then his quiet voicebelow. Her heart began to thump with thick, uncertain beats. She washorribly afraid. 

Yet when she heard the old woman ascending the stairs, she had thecourage to go to the door and open it. 

Mr. Caryl was in the parlour, she was told. He would be glad to see herat her convenience. 

"I will go to him, " she said, and forthwith descended to meet her fate. 

He stood by the window when she entered, but wheeled round at once withhis back to the light. She felt that this did not make much difference. She knew exactly how he was looking--cold, self-contained, implacable asgranite. She had seldom seen him look otherwise. His face was aperpetual mask to her. It was this very inscrutability of his that hadfirst waked in her the desire to see him among her retinue of slaves. 

She went forward slowly, striving to attain at least a semblance ofcomposure. At first it seemed that he would wait for her where he was;then unexpectedly he moved to meet her. He took her hand into his own, and she shrank a little involuntarily. His touch unnerved her. 

"You have slept?" he asked. "You are better?"

Something in his tone made her glance upwards, catching her breath. Butshe decided instantly that she had been mistaken. He would not, he couldnot, mean to be kind at such a moment. 

She made answer with an assumption of pride. She dared not let herselfbe natural just then. 

"I am quite well. There was nothing wrong with me last night. I was onlytired. "

He suffered her hand to slip from his. 

"I wonder what you think of doing, " he said quietly. "Have you made anyplans?"

The hot blood rushed to her face before she was aware of it. She turnedit sharply aside. 

"Am I to have a voice in the matter?" she said, her voice very low. "Youdid not think it worth while to consult me last night. "

"You were scarcely in a fit state to be consulted, " he answered gravely. "That is why I postponed the discussion. But I was then--as I amnow--entirely at your disposal. I will take you back to your people atonce if you wish it. "

She made a quick, passionate gesture of protest, and moved away fromhim. 

"Have you any alternative in your mind?" he asked. 

She remained with her back to him. 

"I shall go away, " she said, a sudden note of recklessness in hervoice. "I shall travel. "

"Alone?" he questioned. 

"Yes, alone. " This time her voice rang defiance. She wheeled roundquivering from head to foot. "But for you, " she said, "but for yourunwarrantable interference I should never have been placed in thishateful, this impossible, position. I should have been with my friendsin London. It would have been my wedding-day. "

The attack was plainly unexpected. Even Caryl was taken by surprise. Butthe next moment he was ready for her. 

"Then by all means, " he said, "let me take you to your friends inLondon. Doubtless your chivalrous lover has found his way thither longere this. "

She stamped like a little fury. 

"Do you think I would marry him--now? Do you think I would marry any oneafter--after what happened last night? Oh, I hate you--I hate you all!"

Her voice broke. She covered her face, with tempestuous sobbing, andsank into a chair. 

Caryl stood silent, biting his lip as if in irresolution. He did not tryto comfort her. 

After a while, her weeping still continuing, he leant across the table. 

"Doris, " he said, "leave off crying and listen to me. I know it is outof the question for you to marry that scoundrel whom I had the pleasureof thrashing last night. It always has been out of the question. Thatis one reason why I have been keeping such a hold upon you. Now that youadmit the impossibility of it, I set you free. But you will be wise tothink well before you accept your freedom from me. You are in anintolerable position, and I am quite powerless to help you unless youplace yourself unreservedly in my hands and give me the right to protectyou. It means a good deal, I know. It means, Doris, the sacrifice ofyour independence. But it also means a safe haven, peace, comfort, ifnot happiness. You may not love me. I never seriously thought that youdid. But if you will give me your trust--I shall try to be satisfiedwith that. "

Love! She had never heard the word on his lips before. It sent a curiousthrill through her to hear it then. She had listened to him with herface hidden, though her tears had ceased. But as he ended, she slowlyraised her head and looked at him. 

"Are you asking me to marry you?" she said. 

"I am, " said Caryl. 

She lowered her eyes from his, and began to trace a design on thetable-cloth with one finger. 

"I don't want to marry you, " she said at length. 

"I know, " said Caryl. 

She did not look up. 

"No, you don't know. That's just it. You think you know everything. Butyou don't. 

For instance, you think you know why I ran away with Major Brandon. Butyou don't. You never will know--unless I tell you, probably not eventhen. "

She broke off with an abrupt sigh, and leant back in her chair. 

"One thing I do thank you for, " she said irrelevantly. "And that is thatyou didn't take me back to Rivermead last night. Have they, I wonder, any idea where I am?"

"I left a message for your cousin before I left, " Caryl said. 

"Oh, then he knew--?"

"He knew that I had you under my protection, " Caryl told her grimly. "Idid not go into details. It was unnecessary. Only Flicker knew thedetails. I marked him down in the afternoon, after the incident atluncheon. "

She opened her eyes. 

"Then you guessed--?"

"I knew he did not find the missing glove under the table, " said Carylquietly. "I did not need any further evidence than that. I knew, moreover, that you had not devoted the whole of the previous afternoonto your correspondence. I was waiting for your cousin in theconservatory when you joined Brandon in the garden. "

"And you--you were in the conservatory last night when I went through. I--I felt there was someone there. "

"Yes, " he answered. "I waited to see you go. "

"Why didn't you stop me?"

For an instant her eyes challenged his. 

He stood up, straightening himself slowly. 

"It would not have answered my purpose, " he told her steadily. 

She stood up also, her face gone suddenly white. 

"You chose this means of--of forcing me to marry you?"

"I chose this means--the only means to my hand--of opening your eyes, "he said. "It has not perhaps been over successful. You are still blindto much that you ought to see. But you will understand these thingsbetter presently. "

"Presently?" she faltered. 

"When you are my wife, " he said. 

She flashed him a swift glance. 

"I am to marry you then?"

He held out his hand to her across the table. 

"Will you marry me, Doris?"

She hesitated for a single instant, her eyes downcast. Then suddenly, without speaking, she put her hand into his, glad that, notwithstandingthe overwhelming strength of his position, he had allowed her thehonours of war. 

CHAPTER IX

THE WILLING CAPTIVE

"And so you were obliged to marry your _bête noire_ after all! My dear, it has been the talk of the town. Come, sit down, and tell me all aboutit. I am burning to hear how it came about. "

Doris's old friend, Mrs. Lockyard, paused to flick the ash from hercigarette, and to laugh slyly at the girl's face of discomfiture. 

Doris also held a cigarette between her fingers, but she was only toyingwith it restlessly. 

"There isn't much to tell, " she said. "We were married by speciallicence. I was not obliged to marry him. I chose to do so. "

Mrs. Lockyard laughed again, not very pleasantly. 

"And left poor Maurice in the lurch. That was rather cruel of you afterall his chivalrous efforts to deliver you from bondage. And he so hardup, too. "

A flush of anger rose in the girl's face. She tilted her chin with theold proud gesture. 

"I should not have married him in any case, " she said. "He made thatquite impossible by his own act. He--was not so chivalrous as Ithought. "

A gleam of malice shone for a moment in Mrs. Lockyard's eyes, and just ahint of it was perceptible in her voice as she made response. 

"One has to make allowances sometimes. All men are not made after thepattern of your chosen lord and master. He, I grant you, is hard asgranite and about as impassive. Still I mustn't depreciate your prizesince it was of your own choosing. Let me wish you instead everyhappiness. "

"He was not impassive that night, " said Doris quickly, with a sharpinward sense of injustice. 

"No?" questioned Mrs. Lockyard. 

"No. At least--Major Brandon did not find him so. " Doris's blue eyestook fire at the recollection. "He gave him his deserts, " she said, witha certain exultation. "He thrashed him. "

"Oh, my dear, he would have done that in any case. That was an old, oldscore paid off at last. Forgive me for depriving you of this smallgratification. But that debt was contracted many years ago when you werescarcely out of your cradle. Your presence was a mere incident. You werethe opportunity, not the cause. "

"I don't know what you mean, " said Doris, looking her straight in theface. 

"No? Well, my dear, it isn't my business to enlighten you. If you reallywant to know, I must refer you to your husband. Surely that is Mrs. Fricker over there. You will not mind if she joins us?"

"I am going!" Doris announced abruptly--"I really only looked in to seeif there were any letters. "

She dropped her cigarette with determination and turned to the nearestdoor. 

It was true that she had run into the club for her correspondence, buthaving met Mrs. Lockyard she had been almost compelled to linger, albeitunwillingly. Now from the depths of her soul she regretted the impulsethat had borne her thither. She vowed to herself that she would notenter the club again so long as Mrs. Lockyard remained in town. 

Three weeks had elapsed since her marriage; three weeks of shopping inParis with Caryl somewhere in the background, looking on but neveradvising. 

He had been very kind on the whole, she was fain to admit, but she wasfurther from understanding him now than she had ever been. He hadretired into his shell so completely that it seemed unlikely that hewould ever again emerge, and she did not dare to make the first advance. 

Her return to London had been one of the greatest ordeals she had everfaced, but she had endured it unflinchingly, and had found that Londonhad already almost forgotten the eccentricity of her marriage. In theheight of the season memories are short. 

Caryl had taken a flat overlooking the river, and here they had settleddown. He spent the greater part of his day at the Law Courts, and Dorisfound herself thrown a good deal upon her own resources. In happier daysthis had been her ideal, but for some reason it did not now content her. 

Returning from her encounter with Mrs. Lockyard at the club, she toldherself with sudden petulance that life in town had lost all charm forher. 

Entering the dainty sitting-room that looked on to the river, shedropped into a chair by the window and stared out with her chin in herhands. The river was a blaze of gold. A line of long black barges wasdrifting down-stream in the wake of a noisy steam-tug. She watched themabsently, sick at heart. 

Gradually the shining water grew blurred and dim. Its beauty whollypassed her by, or if she saw it, it was only in vivid contrast to thedarkness in her soul. For a little, wide-eyed, she resisted the impulsethat tugged at her heart-strings; but at last in sheer weariness shegave in. What did it matter, a tear more or less? There was no one toknow or care. And tears were sometimes a relief. She bowed her head uponthe sill and wept. 

"Why, Doris!" a quiet voice said. 

She started, started violently, and sprang upright. 

Caryl was standing slightly behind her, his hand on the back of herchair, but as she rose he came forward and stood beside her. 

"What is it?" he said. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not!" she declared vehemently. "I wasn't! You--you startledme--that's all. "

She turned her back on him and hastily dabbed her eyes. She was furiouswith him for coming upon her thus. 

He stood at the window, looking out upon the long, black barges insilence. 

After a few seconds of desperate effort she controlled herself andturned round. 

"I never heard you come in. I--must have been asleep. "

He did not look at her, or attempt to refute the statement. 

"I thought you were going to be out this afternoon, " he said. 

"So I was. So I have been. I went to the club to get my letters. "

"Didn't you find any one there to talk to?" he asked. 

"No one, " she answered somewhat hastily; then, moved by some impulse shecould not have explained, "That is, no one that counts. I saw Mrs. Lockyard. "

"Doesn't she count?" asked Caryl, still with his eyes on the river. 

"I hate the woman!" Doris declared passionately. 

He turned slowly round. 

"What has she been saying to you?"

"Nothing. "

Again he made no comment on the obvious lie. 

"Look here, " he said. "Can't we go out somewhere to-night? There is anew play at the Regency. They say it's good. Shall we go?"

The suggestion was quite unexpected; she looked at him in surprise. 

"I have promised Vera to dine there, " she said. 

"Ring her up and say you can't, " said Caryl. 

She hesitated. 

"I must make some excuse if I do. What shall I say?"

"Say I want you, " he said, and suddenly that rare smile of his for whichshe had wholly ceased to look flashed across his face, "and tell thetruth for once. "

She did not see him again till she entered the dining-room an hourlater. He was waiting for her there, and as she came in he presented herwith a spray of lilies. 

Again in astonishment she looked up at him. 

"Don't you like them?" he said. 

"Of course I do. But--but--"

Her answer tailed off in confusion. Her lip quivered uncontrollably, andshe turned quickly away. 

Caryl was plainly unaware of anything unusual in her demeanour. Hetalked throughout dinner in his calm, effortless drawl, and graduallyunder its soothing influence she recovered herself. 

She enjoyed the play that followed. It was a simple romance, wellstaged, and superbly acted. She breathed a sigh of regret when it wasover. 

Driving home again with Caryl, she thanked him impulsively for takingher. 

"You weren't bored?" he asked. 

"Of course not, " she said. 

She would have said more, but something restrained her. A sudden shynessdescended upon her that lasted till they reached the flat. 

She left Caryl at the outer door and turned into the room overlookingthe river. The window was open as she had left it, and the air blew insweetly upon her over the water. She had dropped her wrap from hershoulders, and she shivered a little as she stood, but a feeling ofsuspense kept her motionless. 

Caryl had entered the room behind her. She wondered if he would pause atthe table where a tray of refreshments was standing. He did not, and hernerves tingled and quivered as he passed it by. 

He joined her at the window, and they stood together for several secondslooking out upon the great river with its myriad lights. 

She had not the faintest idea as to what was passing in his mind, buther heart-beats quickened in his silence to such a tumult that at lastshe could bear it no longer. She turned back into the room. 

He followed her instantly, and she fancied that he sighed. 

"Won't you have anything before you go?" he said. 

She shook her head. 

"Good-night!" she said almost inaudibly. 

For a moment--no longer--her hand lay in his. She did not look at him. There was something in his touch that thrilled through her like anelectric current. 

But his grave "Good-night!" had in it nothing startling, and by the timeshe reached her own room she had begun to ask herself what cause therehad been for her agitation. She was sure he must have thought her verystrange, very abrupt, even ungracious. 

And at that her heart smote her, for he had been kinder that eveningthan ever before. The fragrance of the lilies at her breast reminded herhow kind. 

She bent her head to them, and suddenly, as though the flowers exhaledsome potent charm, impulse--blind, domineering impulse--took possessionof her. 

She turned swiftly to the door, and in a moment her feet were bearingher, almost without her voluntary effort, back to the room she had left. 

The door was unlatched. She pushed it open, entering impetuously. Andshe came upon Caryl suddenly--as he had come upon her thatafternoon--sunk in a chair by the window, with his head in his hands. 

He rose instantly at her entrance, rose and closed the window; thenlowered the blind very quietly, very slowly, and finally turned round toher. 

"What is it? You have forgotten something?"

Except that he was paler than usual, his face bore no trace of emotion. He looked at her with his heavy eyes gravely, with unfailing patience. 

For an instant she stood irresolute, afraid; then again that urgingimpulse drove her forward. She moved close to him. 

"I only came back to say--I only wanted to tell you--Vivian, I--I washorrid to you this afternoon. Forgive me!"

She stretched out her trembling hands to him, and he took them, heldthem fast, then sharply let them go. 

"My dear, " he said, "you were in trouble, and I intruded upon you. Itwas no case for forgiveness. "

But she would not accept his indulgence. 

"I was horrid, " she protested, with a catch in her voice. "Why are youso patient with me? You never used to be. "

He did not answer her. He seemed to regard the question as superfluous. 

She drew a little nearer. Her fingers fastened quivering upon his coat. 

"Don't be too kind to me, Vivian, " she said, her voice trembling. "It--it isn't good for me. "

He took her by the wrists and drew her hands away. 

"You want to tell me something, " he said. "What is it?"

She glanced upwards, meeting his look with sudden resolution. 

"You asked me this afternoon why I was crying, " she said. "And I--I liedto you. You asked me, too, what Mrs. Lockyard said to me. And I liedagain. I will tell you now, if--if you will listen to me. "

Caryl was still holding her wrists. There was a hint of sternness in hisattitude. 

"Well?" he said quietly. "What did she say?"

"She said"--Doris spoke with an effort--"she said, or rather she hinted, that there was an old grudge between you and Major Brandon, a matterwith which I was in no way concerned, an affair of many years' standing. She said that was why you followed him up and--thrashed him that night. She implied that I didn't count at all. She made me wonderif--if--"--she was speaking almost inarticulately, with bent head--"ifperhaps it was only to satisfy this ancient grudge that you married me. "

Her words went into silence. She could not look him in the face. If hehad not held her wrists so firmly she would have been tempted to turnand flee. As it was, she could only stand before him in quiveringsuspense. 

He moved at length, moved suddenly and disconcertingly, freeing onehand to turn her face quietly upwards. She did not resist him, but sheshrank as she met his eyes. She fancied she had never seen him look sogrim. 

"And that was why you were crying?" he asked, deliberately searching herreluctant eyes. 

"That was--one reason, " she acknowledged faintly. 

"Then there was something more than that?"

"Yes. " She laid her hand pleadingly on his arm, and he released her. "Iwill tell you, " she said tremulously, keeping her face upturned to his. "At least, I will try. But it's very difficult because--"

She began to falter under his look. 

"Because, " he said slowly, "you have no confidence in me. That I canwell understand. You married me more or less under compulsion, and whena wife is no more than a guest in her husband's house, confidencebetween them, of any description, is almost an impossibility. "

He spoke without anger, but with a sadness that pierced her to theheart; and having so spoken he leant his arm upon the mantelpiece, turning slightly from her. 

"I will tell you, " he said, his voice very quiet and even, "exactly whatMrs. Lockyard was hinting at. Ten years ago I was engaged to agirl--like you in many ways--gay, impulsive, bewitching. I was young inthose days, romantic, too. I worshipped her as a goddess. I was utterlyblind to her failings. They simply didn't exist for me. She rewarded meby running away with Maurice Brandon. I knew he was a blackguard, buthow much of a blackguard I did not realize till later. However, I didn'ttrust him even then, and I followed them and insisted that they shouldbe married in my presence. Six months later I heard from her. He hadtreated her abominably, had finally deserted her, and she was trying toget a divorce. I did my best to help her, and eventually she obtainedit. " He paused a moment, then went on with bent head, "I never saw herafter she gained her freedom. She went to her people, and very soonafter--she died. "

Again he paused, then slowly straightened himself. 

"I never cared for any woman after that, " he said, "until I met you. Asfor Brandon, he kept out of my way, and I had no object in seeking him. In fact, I took no interest in his doings till I found that you were inMrs. Lockyard's set. That, I admit, was something of a shock. And thenwhen I found that you liked the man--"

"Oh, don't!" she broke in. "Don't! I was mad ever to tolerate him. Letme forget it! Please let me forget it!"

She spoke passionately, and as if her emotion drew him he turned fullyround to her. 

"If you could have forgotten him sooner, " he said, with a touch ofsternness, "you would not find yourself tied now to a man you neverloved. "

The effect of his words was utterly unexpected. She started as onestricken, wounded in a vital place, and clasped her hands tightlyagainst her breast, crushing the flowers that drooped there. 

"It is a lie!" she cried wildly. "It is a lie!"

"What is a lie?"

He took a step towards her, for she was swaying as she stood; but sheflung out her hands, keeping him from her. 

Her face was working convulsively. She turned and moved unsteadily awayfrom him, groping out before her as she went. So groping, she reachedthe door, and blindly sought the handle. But before she found it hespoke in a tone that had subtly altered:

"Doris!"

Her hands fell. She stood suddenly still, listening. 

"Come here!" he said. 

He crossed the room and reached her. 

"Look at me!" he said. 

She refused for a little, trembling all over. Then suddenly as he waitedshe threw back her head and met his eyes. She was sobbing like a childthat has been hurt. 

He bent towards her, looking closely, closely into her quivering face. 

"So, " he said, "it was a lie, was it? But, my own girl, how was I toknow? Why on earth didn't you say so before?"

She broke into a laugh that had in it the sound of tears. 

"How could I? You never asked. How could I?"

"Shall I ask you now?" he said. 

She stretched up her arms and clasped his neck. 

"No, " she whispered back. "Take me--take everything--for granted. It'sthe only way, if you want to turn a heartless little flirt like meinto--into a virtuous and amiable wife!"

And so, clinging to him, her lips met his in the first kiss that hadever passed between them. 

Those Who Wait[1]

A faint draught from the hills found its way through the wide-flung dooras the sun went down. It fluttered the papers on the table, and stirreda cartoon upon the wall with a dry rustling as of wind in corn. 

The man who sat at the table turned his face as it were mechanicallytowards that blessed breath from the snows. His chin was propped on hishand. He seemed to be waiting. 

The light failed very quickly, and he presently reached out and drew areading-lamp towards him. The flame he kindled flickered upward, throwing weird shadows upon his lean, brown face, making the sunkenhollows of his eyes look cavernous. 

He turned the light away so that it streamed upon the open doorway. Thenhe resumed his former position of sphinx-like waiting, his chin upon hishand. 

Half an hour passed. The day was dead. Beyond the radius of the lampthere hung a pall of thick darkness--a fearful, clinging darkness thatseemed to wrap the whole earth. The heat was intense, unstirred by anybreeze. Only now and then the cartoon on the wall moved as if at thetouch of ghostly fingers, and each time there came that mocking whisperthat was like wind in corn. 

At length there sounded through the night the dull throbbing of ahorse's feet, and the man who sat waiting raised his head. A gleam ofexpectancy shone in his sombre eyes. Some of the rigidity went out ofhis attitude. 

Nearer came the hoofs and nearer yet, and with them, minglingrhythmically, a tenor voice that sang. 

As it reached him the man at the table pulled out a drawer with a sharpjerk. His hand sought something within it, but his eyes never left thecurtain of darkness that the open doorway framed. 

Slowly, very slowly at last, he withdrew his hand empty; but he onlypartially closed the drawer. 

The voice without was nearer now, was close at hand. The horse's hoofshad ceased to sound. There came the ring of spurred heels without, aman's hand tapped upon the doorpost, a man's figure showed suddenlyagainst the darkness. 

"Hallo, Conyers! Still in the land of the living? Ye gods, what afiendish night! Many thanks for the beacon! It's kept me straight formore than half the way. "

He entered carelessly, the lamplight full upon him--a handsome, straight-limbed young Hercules--tossed down his riding-whip, and lookedround for a drink. 

"Here you are!" said Conyers, turning the rays of the lamp full uponsome glasses on the table. 

"Ah, good! I'm as dry as a smoked herring. You must drink too, though. Yes, I insist. I have a toast to propose, so be sociable for once. Whathave you got in that drawer?"

Conyers locked the drawer abruptly, and jerked out the key. 

"What do you want to know for?"

His visitor grinned boyishly. 

"Don't be bashful, old chap! I always guessed you kept her there. We'lldrink her health, too, in a minute. But first of all"--he was splashingsoda-water impetuously out of a syphon as he spoke--"first of all--quiteready, I say? It's a grand occasion--here's to the best of good fellows, that genius, that inventor of guns, John Conyers! Old chap, yourfortune's made. Here's to it! Hip--hip--hooray!"

His shout was like the blare of a bull. Conyers rose, crossed to thedoor, and closed it. 

Returning, he halted by his visitor's side, and shook him by theshoulder. 

"Stop rotting, Palliser!" he said rather shortly. 

Young Palliser wheeled with a gigantic laugh, and seized him by thearms. 

"You old fool, Jack! Can't you see I'm in earnest? Drink, man, drink, and I'll tell you all about it. That gun of yours is going to be anenormous success--stupendous--greater even than I hoped. It's true, bythe powers! Don't look so dazed. All comes to those who wait, don't youknow. I always told you so. "

"To be sure, so you did. " The man's words came jerkily. They had an odd, detached sound, almost as though he were speaking in his sleep. Heturned away from Palliser, and took up his untouched glass. 

But the next instant it slipped through his fingers, and crashed uponthe table edge. The spilt liquid streamed across the floor. 

Palliser stared for an instant, then thrust forward his own glass. 

"Steady does it, old boy! Try both hands for a change. It's thisinfernal heat. "

He turned with the words, and picked up a paper from the table, frowningover it absently, and whistling below his breath. 

When he finally looked round again his face cleared. 

"Ah, that's better! Sit down, and we'll talk. By Jove, isn't itcolossal? They told me over at the fort that I was a fool to come acrossto-night. But I simply couldn't keep you waiting another night. Besides, I knew you would expect me. "

Conyers' grim face softened a little. He could scarcely have said how hehad ever come to be the chosen friend of young Hugh Palliser. Theintimacy had been none of his seeking. 

They had met at the club on the occasion of one of his rare appearancesthere, and the younger man, whose sociable habit it was to knoweveryone, had scraped acquaintance with him. 

No one knew much about Conyers. He was not fond of society, and, as anatural consequence, society was not fond of him. He occupied the humbleposition of a subordinate clerk in an engineer's office. The work washard, but it did not bring him prosperity. He was one of those men whogo silently on week after week, year after year, till their veryexistence comes almost to be overlooked by those about them. He neverseemed to suffer as other men suffered from the scorching heat of thattropical corner of the Indian Empire. He was always there, whateverhappened to the rest of the world; but he never pushed himself forward. He seemed to lack ambition. There were even some who said he lackedbrains as well. 

But Palliser was not of these. His quick eyes had detected at a glancesomething that others had never taken the trouble to discover. From thevery beginning he had been aware of a force that contained itself inthis silent man. He had become interested, scarcely knowing why; and, having at length overcome the prickly hedge of reserve which was atfirst opposed to his advances, he had entered the private place which itdefended, and found within--what he certainly had not expected tofind--a genius. 

It was nearly three months now since Conyers, in a moment of unusualexpansion, had laid before him the invention at which he had beenworking for so many silent years. The thing even then, though completein all essentials, had lacked finish, and this final touch youngPalliser, himself a gunner with a positive passion for guns, had beenable to supply. He had seen the value of the invention and had given ithis ardent support. He had, moreover, friends in high places, and couldobtain a fair and thorough investigation of the idea. 

This he had accomplished, with a result that had transcended his highhopes, on his friend's behalf; and he now proceeded to pour out hisinformation with an accompanying stream of congratulation, to whichConyers sat and listened with scarcely the movement of an eyelid. 

Hugh Palliser found his impassivity by no means disappointing. He wasused to it. He had even expected it. That momentary unsteadiness onConyers' part had astonished him far more. 

Concluding his narration he laid the official correspondence before him, and got up to open the door. The night was black and terrible, the heatcame in overwhelming puffs, as though blown from a blast furnace. Heleaned against the doorpost and wiped his forehead. The oppression ofthe atmosphere was like a tangible, crushing weight. Behind him thepaper on the wall rustled vaguely, but there was no other sound. Afterseveral minutes he turned briskly back again into the room, whistling asentimental ditty below his breath. 

"Well, old chap, it was worth waiting for, eh? And now, I suppose, you'll be making a bee-line for home, you lucky beggar. I shan't be longafter you, that's one comfort. Pity we can't go together. I suppose youcan't wait till the winter. "

"No, my boy. I'm afraid I can't. " Conyers spoke with a faint smile, hiseyes still fixed upon the blue official paper that held his destiny. "I'm going home forthwith, and be damned to everything andeverybody--except you. It's an understood thing, you know, Palliser, that we are partners in this deal. "

"Oh, rot!" exclaimed Palliser impetuously. "I don't agree to that. I didnothing but polish the thing up. You'd have done it yourself if Ihadn't. "

"In the course of a few more years, " put in Conyers drily. 

"Rot!" said Palliser again. "Besides, I don't want any pelf. I've quiteas much as is good for me, more than I want. That's why I'm going to getmarried. You'll be going the same way yourself now, I suppose?"

"You have no reason whatever for thinking so, " responded Conyers. 

Palliser laughed lightheartedly and sat down on the table. "Oh, haven'tI? What about that mysterious locked drawer of yours? Don't be shy, Isay! You had it open when I came in. Show her to me like a good chap! Iwon't tell a soul. "

"That's not where I keep my love-tokens, " said Conyers, with a grimtwist of the mouth that was not a smile. 

"What then?" asked Palliser eagerly. "Not another invention?"

"No. " Conyers inserted the key in the lock again, turned it, and pulledopen the drawer. "See for yourself as you are so anxious. "

Palliser leaned across the table and looked. The next instant his glanceflashed upwards, and their eyes met. 

There was a sharply-defined pause. Then, "You'd never be fool enough forthat, Jack!" ejaculated Palliser, with vehemence. 

"I'm fool enough for anything, " said Conyers, with his cynical smile. 

"But you wouldn't, " the other protested almost incoherently. "A fellowlike you--I don't believe it!"

"It's loaded, " observed Conyers quietly. "No, leave it alone, Hugh! Itcan remain so for the present. There is not the smallest danger of itsgoing off--or I shouldn't have shown it to you. "

He closed the drawer again, looking steadily into Hugh Palliser's face. 

"I've had it by me for years, " he said, "just in case the Fates shouldhave one more trick in store for me. But apparently they haven't, thoughit's never safe to assume anything. "

"Oh, don't talk like an idiot!" broke in Palliser heatedly. "I've nopatience with that sort of thing. Do you expect me to believe that afellow like you--a fellow who knows how to wait for his luck--would giveway to a cowardly impulse and destroy himself all in a moment becausethings didn't go quite straight? Man alive! I know you better than that;or if I don't, I've never known you at all. "

"Ah! Perhaps not!" said Conyers. 

Once more he turned the key and withdrew it. He pushed back his chair sothat his face was in shadow. 

"You don't know everything, you know, Hugh, " he said. 

"Have a smoke, " said Palliser, "and tell me what you are driving at. "

He threw himself into a bamboo chair by the open door, the lightstreaming full upon him, revealing in every line of him the arrogantsplendour of his youth. He looked like a young Greek god with the worldat his feet. 

Conyers surveyed him with his faint, cynical smile. "No, " he said, "youcertainly don't know everything, my son. You never have come a cropperin your life. "

"Haven't I, though?" Hugh sat up, eager to refute this criticism. "That's all you know about it. I suppose you think you have had themonopoly of hard knocks. Most people do. "

"I am not like most people, " Conyers asserted deliberately. "But youneedn't tell me that you have ever been right under, my boy. For younever have. "

"Depends what you call going under, " protested Palliser. "I've been downa good many times, Heaven knows. And I've had to wait--as you have--allthe best years of my life. "

"Your best years are to come, " rejoined Conyers. "Mine are over. "

"Oh, rot, man! Rot--rot--rot! Why, you are just coming into your own!Have another drink and give me the toast of your heart!" Hugh Pallisersprang impulsively to his feet. "Let me mix it! You can't--you shan't bemelancholy to-night of all nights. "

But Conyers stayed his hand. 

"Only one more drink to-night, boy!" he said. "And that not yet. Sitdown and smoke. I'm not melancholy, but I can't rejoice prematurely. It's not my way. "

"Prematurely!" echoed Hugh, pointing to the official envelope. 

"Yes, prematurely, " Conyers repeated. "I may be as rich as Croesus, andyet not win my heart's desire. "

"Oh, I know that, " said Hugh quickly. "I've been through it myself. It'sinfernal to have everything else under the sun and yet to lack the onething--the one essential--the one woman. "

He sat down again, abruptly thoughtful. Conyers smoked silently, withhis face in the shadow. 

Suddenly Hugh looked across at him. 

"You think I'm too much of an infant to understand, " he said. "I'mnearly thirty, but that's a detail. "

"I'm forty-five, " said Conyers. 

"Well, well!" Hugh frowned impatiently. "It's a detail, as I saidbefore. Who cares for a year more or less?"

"Which means, " observed Conyers, with his dry smile, "that the one womanis older than you are. "

"She is, " Palliser admitted recklessly. "She is five years older. Butwhat of it? Who cares? We were made for each other. What earthlydifference does it make?"

"It's no one's business but your own, " remarked Conyers through a hazeof smoke. 

"Of course it isn't. It never has been. " Hugh yet sounded in somefashion indignant. "There never was any other possibility for me after Imet her. I waited for her six mortal years. I'd have waited all my life. But she gave in at last. I think she realized that it was sheer waste oftime to go on. "

"What was she waiting for?" The question came with a certain wearinessof intonation, as though the speaker were somewhat bored; but HughPalliser was too engrossed to notice. 

He stretched his arms wide with a swift and passionate gesture. 

"She was waiting for a scamp, " he declared. 

"It is maddening to think of--the sweetest woman on earth, Conyers, wasting her spring and her summer over a myth, an illusion. It was anaffair of fifteen years ago. The fellow came to grief and disappointedher. She told me all about it on the day she promised to marry me. Ibelieve her heart was nearly broken at the time, but she has got overit--thank Heaven!--at last. Poor Damaris! My Damaris!"

He ceased to speak, and a dull roar of thunder came out of the nightlike the voice of a giant in anguish. 

Hugh began to smoke, still busy with his thoughts. 

"Yes, " he said presently, "I believe she would actually have waited allher life for the fellow if he had asked it of her. Luckily he didn't goso far as that. He was utterly unworthy of her. I think she sees it now. His father was imprisoned for forgery, and no doubt he was in the know, though it couldn't be brought home to him. He was ruined, of course, andhe disappeared, just dropped out, when the crash came. He had been onthe verge of proposing to her immediately before. And she would have hadhim too. She cared. "

He sent a cloud of smoke upwards with savage vigour. 

"It's damnable to think of her suffering for a worthless brute likethat!" he exclaimed. "She had such faith in him too. Year after year shewas expecting him to go back to her, and she kept me at arm's length, till at last she came to see that both our lives were being sacrificedto a miserable dream. Well, it's my innings now, anyway. And we aregoing to be superbly happy to make up for it. "

Again he flung out his arms with a wide gesture, and again out of thenight there came a long roll of thunder that was like the menace of atortured thing. A flicker of lightning gleamed through the open door fora moment, and Conyers' dark face was made visible. He had ceased tosmoke, and was staring with fixed, inscrutable eyes into the darkness. He did not flinch from the lightning; it was as if he did not see it. 

"What would she do, I wonder, if the prodigal returned, " he saidquietly. "Would she be glad--or sorry?"

"He never will, " returned Hugh quickly. "He never can--after fifteenyears. Think of it! Besides--she wouldn't have him if he did. "

"Women are proverbially faithful, " remarked Conyers cynically. 

"She will stick to me now, " Hugh returned with confidence. "The otherfellow is probably dead. In any case, he has no shadow of a right overher. He never even asked her to wait for him. "

"Possibly he thought that she would wait without being asked, " saidConyers, still cynical. 

"Well, she has ceased to care for him now, " asserted Hugh. "She told meso herself. "

The man opposite shifted his position ever so slightly. "And you aresatisfied with that?" he said. 

"Of course I am. Why not?" There was almost a challenge in Hugh's voice. 

"And if he came back?" persisted the other. "You would still besatisfied?"

Hugh sprang to his feet with a movement of fierce impatience. "I believeI should shoot him!" he said vindictively. He looked like a splendidwild animal suddenly awakened. "I tell you, Conyers, " he declaredpassionately, "I could kill him with my hands if he came between usnow. "

Conyers, his chin on his hand, looked him up and down as thoughappraising his strength. 

Suddenly he sat bolt upright and spoke--spoke briefly, sternly, harshly, as a man speaks in the presence of his enemy. At the same instant afrightful crash of thunder swept the words away as though they had neverbeen uttered. 

In the absolute pandemonium of sound that followed, Hugh Palliser, witha face gone suddenly white, went over to his friend and stood behindhim, his hands upon his shoulders. 

But Conyers sat quite motionless, staring forth at the leapinglightning, rigid, sphinx-like. He did not seem aware of the man behindhim, till, as the uproar began to subside, Hugh bent and spoke. 

"Do you know, old chap, I'm scared!" he said, with a faint, shamedlaugh. "I feel as if there were devils abroad. Speak to me, will you, and tell me I'm a fool!"

"You are, " said Conyers, without turning. 

"That lightning is too much for my nerves, " said Hugh uneasily. "It'salmost red. What was it you said just now? I couldn't hear a word. "

"It doesn't matter, " said Conyers. 

"But what was it? I want to know. "

The gleam in the fixed eyes leaped to sudden terrible flame, shone hotlyfor a few seconds, then died utterly away. "I don't remember, " saidConyers quietly. "It couldn't have been anything of importance. Have adrink! You will have to be getting back as soon as this is over. "

Hugh helped himself with a hand that was not altogether steady. Therehad come a lull in the tempest. The cartoon on the wall was flutteringlike a caged thing. He glanced at it, then looked at it closely. It wasa reproduction of Doré's picture of Satan falling from heaven. 

"It isn't meant for you surely!" he said. 

Conyers laughed and got to his feet. "It isn't much like me, is it?"

Hugh looked at him uncertainly. "I never noticed it before. It mighthave been you years ago. "

"Ah, perhaps, " said Conyers. "Why don't you drink? I thought you weregoing to give me a toast. "

Hugh's mood changed magically. He raised his glass high. "Here's to youreternal welfare, dear fellow! I drink to your heart's desire. "

Conyers waited till Hugh had drained his glass before he lifted his own. 

Then, "I drink to the one woman, " he said, and emptied it at a draught. 

 * * * * *

The storm was over, and a horse's feet clattered away into the darkness, mingling rhythmically with a cheery tenor voice. 

In the room with the open door a man's figure stood for a long whilemotionless. 

When he moved at length it was to open the locked drawer of thewriting-table. His right hand felt within it, closed upon something thatlay there; and then he paused. 

Several minutes crawled away. 

From afar there came the long rumble of thunder. But it was not thisthat he heard as he stood wrestling with the fiercest temptation he hadever known. 

Stiffly at last he stooped, peered into the drawer, finally closed itwith an unfaltering hand. The struggle was over. 

"For your sake, Damaris!" he said aloud, and he spoke without cynicism. "I should know how to wait by now--even for death--which is all I haveto wait for. "

And with that he pulled the fluttering paper from the wall, crushed itin his hand, and went out heavily into the night. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: This story was originally issued in the _Red Magazine_. ]

The Eleventh Hour[2]

CHAPTER I

HIS OWN GROUND

"Oh, to be a farmer's wife!"

Doris Elliot paused, punt-pole in hand, to look across a field ofcorn-sheaves with eyes of shining appreciation. 

Her companion, stretched luxuriously on his back on a pile of cushions, smiled a contemplative smile and made no comment. 

The girl's look came down to him after a moment. She regarded him withfriendly contempt. 

"You're very lazy, Hugh, " she said. 

"I know it, " said Hugh Chesyl comfortably. 

She dropped the pole into the water and drove the punt towards the bank. "It's a pity you're such a slacker, " she said. 

He removed his cigarette momentarily. "You wouldn't like me any betterif I weren't, " he said. 

"Indeed I should--miles!"

"No, you wouldn't. " His smile became more pronounced. "If I were moreenergetic, I should be for ever pestering you to marry me. And, youknow, you wouldn't like that. As it is, I take 'No, ' for an answer andrest content. "

Doris was silent. Her slim, white-clad figure was bent to the task ofbringing the punt to a pleasant anchorage in an inviting hollow in thegrassy shore. Hugh Chesyl clasped his hands behind his head and watchedher with placid admiration. 

The small brown hands were very capable. They knew exactly what to do, and did it with precision. When they had finally secured the punt, withhim in it, to the bank he sat up. 

"Are we going to have tea here? What a charming spot! Sweetly romantic, isn't it? I wonder why you particularly want to be a farmer's wife?"

Doris's pointed chin still looked slightly scornful. "You wouldn'twonder if you took the trouble to reflect, Mr. Chesyl, " she said. 

He laughed easily. "Oh, don't ask me to do that! You know what asluggish brain mine is. I can quite understand your not wanting to marryme, but why you should want to marry a farmer--like Jeff Ironside--Icannot see. "

"Who is Jeff Ironside?" she demanded. 

"He's the chap who owns this property. Didn't you know? A frightfullyenergetic person; prosperous, too, for a wonder. But an absolute tinker, my dear. I shouldn't marry him--all his fair acres notwithstanding--ifI were you. I don't think the county would approve. "

Doris snapped her fingers with supreme contempt. "That for the county!What a snob you are!"

"Am I?" said Hugh. "I didn't know. "

She nodded severely. "Do you mind moving your legs? I want to get at thetea-basket. "

"Don't mention it!" he said accommodatingly. "Are you going to give metea now? How nice! You are looking awfully pretty to-day, do you know? Ican't think how you do it. There isn't a feature in your face worthmentioning, but, notwithstanding, you make an entrancing whole. "

Doris sternly repressed a smile. "Please don't take the trouble to becomplimentary. "

Hugh groaned. "There's no pleasing you. And still you haven't let meinto the secret as to why you want to be a farmer's wife. "

Doris was unpacking the tea-things energetically. "You never understandanything without being told, " she said. "Don't you know that Ipositively hate the life I live now?"

"I can quite believe it, " said Hugh Chesyl. "But, if you will allow meto say so, I think your remedy would be worse than the disease. Yourutmost ingenuity will fail to persuade me that the life of a farmer'swife would suit you. "

"I should like the simplicity of it, " she maintained. 

"And getting up at five in the morning to make the butter? And having ahulking brute of a husband--like Jeff Ironside--tramping into yourkitchen with his muddy boots and beastly clothes (which you would haveto mend) just when you had got things into good order? I can see youdoing it!" Hugh Chesyl's speech went into his easy, high-bred laugh. "You of all people--the dainty and disdainful Miss Elliot, for whom noman is good enough!"

"I don't know why you say that. " There was quick protest in the girl'svoice. She clattered the cups and saucers as if something in the lazyargument had exasperated her. "I like a man who is a man--the hard, outdoor, wholesome kind--who isn't afraid of taking a littletrouble--who knows what he wants and how to get it. I shouldn't quarrelwith him on the score of muddy boots. I should be only glad that he hadenough of the real thing in him to go out in all weathers and not tocare. "

"All of which is aimed at me, " said Hugh to the trees above him. "I'mafraid I'm boring you more than usual this afternoon. "

"You can't help it, " said Doris. 

Hugh Chesyl's good-looking face crumpled a little, then smoothed itselfagain to its usual placid expression. "Ah, well!" he said equably, "wewon't quarrel about it. Let's have some tea!"

He sat up in the punt and looked across at her; but she would not meethis eyes, and there ensued a considerable pause before he said gently, "I'm sorry you are not happy, you know. "

"Are you?" she said. 

"Yes. That's why I want you to marry me. "

"Should I be any happier if I did?" said Doris, with a smile that wassomehow slightly piteous. 

"I don't know. " Hugh Chesyl's voice was as pleasantly vague as hispersonality. "I shouldn't get in your way at all, and, at least, youwould have a home of your own. "

"To be miserable in, " said Doris, with suppressed vehemence. 

"I don't know why you should be miserable, " he said. "You wouldn't haveanything to do that you didn't like. "

She uttered a laugh that caught her breath as if it had been a sob. "Oh, don't talk about it, Hugh! I should be bored--bored to death. I want thereal thing--the real thing--not a polite substitute. "

"Sorry, " said Hugh imperturbably. "I have offered the utmost of which Iam capable. May I have my tea here, please? It's less trouble thanscrambling ashore. "

She acceded to his request without protest; but she stepped on to thebank herself, and sat down with her back to a corn-sheaf. Very young andslender she looked sitting there with the sunshine on her brown, elf-like face, but she was by no means without dignity. There was afairy queenliness about her that imparted an indescribable charm to herevery movement. Her eyes were grey and fearless. 

"How lovely to own a field like this!" she said. "And plough it and sowit and watch it grow up, and then cut it and turn it into sheaves! Howproud the man who owns it must be!"

Something stirred on the other side of the sheaf, and she started alittle and glanced backwards. "What's that?"

"A rat probably, " said Hugh Chesyl serenely from his couch in the punt. "I expect the place is full of 'em. Won't you continue your rhapsody?The man who owns this particular field is a miller as well as a farmer. He grinds his own grain. "

"Oh, is he that man?" Eagerly she broke in. "Does he live in thatperfectly exquisite old red-brick house on the water with the wheelturning all day long? Oh, isn't he lucky?"

"I doubt if he thinks so, " said Hugh Chesyl. "I've never met a contentedfarmer yet. "

"I don't like people to be too contented, " said Doris perversely. "It'sa sign of laziness and--yes--weakness of purpose. "

"Oh, is it?" Again he uttered his good-tempered laugh; then, as he beganto drink his tea, he gradually sobered. "Has anything happened lately tomake you specially discontented with your lot?" he asked presently. 

Doris's brows contracted. "Things are always happening. My stepmothergets more unbearable every day. I sometimes think I will go and workfor my living, but my father won't hear of it. And what can I do? Ihaven't qualified for anything. The only thing open to me is to fill apost of unpaid companion to a rich and elderly cousin who would put upwith me but doesn't much want me. She lives at Kensington, too, and Ican breathe only in the country. "

"Poor little girl!" said Hugh kindly. 

"Oh, don't pity me!" she said quickly. "You can't do anything to help. And I shouldn't grumble to you if there were anyone else to grumble to. "She leaned back against her sheaf with her eyes on the sunlit waterbelow. "I suppose I shall just go on in the same old way till somethinghappens. Anyhow, I can't see my way out at present. It's such a shame tobe unhappy, too, when life might be so ecstatic. "

"How could life be ecstatic?" asked Hugh, passing up his cup to berefilled. 

She threw him a quick glance. "You wouldn't understand if I were to tellyou, " she said. "It never could be--for you. "

He sighed. "I know I'm very limited. But it's a mistake to expect toomuch from life, believe me. Ask but little, and perhaps--if you'relucky--you won't be disappointed. "

"I would rather have nothing than that, " she said quickly. 

Hugh Chesyl turned and regarded her curiously. "Would you really?" hesaid. 

She nodded several times emphatically. "Yes; just live my own lifeout-of-doors and do without everything else. " She pulled a long stalk ofcorn from the sheaf against which she rested and looked at itthoughtfully. Her eyes were downcast, and the man in the punt could notsee the deep shadow of pain they held. "If I can't have corn, " she saidslowly, with the air of one pronouncing sentence, "I won't have husks. Iwill die of starvation sooner. "

And with that very suddenly she rose and walked round the sheaf. 

The movement was abrupt, so abrupt that Hugh Chesyl lifted his brows inastonishment. He was still more surprised a moment later when he heardher clear, girlish voice raised in admonition. 

"I don't think it's very nice of you to lie there listening and not tolet us know. "

Hugh sat upright in the punt. Who on earth was it that she was reprovingthus?

The next moment he saw. A huge man with the frame of a bull rose frombehind the sheaf and confronted his young companion. He had his hat inhis hand, and the afternoon sun fell full upon his uncovered head, revealing a rugged, clean-shaven face that had in it a good deal ofBritish strength and a suspicion of gipsy alertness. To Chesyl's furtheramazement he did not appear in the least abashed by the encounter. 

"I'm sorry I overheard you, " he said, with blunt deference. "I washalf-asleep at first. Afterwards, I didn't like to intrude. "

Doris's grey eyes looked him up and down for a moment or two insilence, and a flush rose in her tanned face. It seemed to Hugh that shewas likely to become the more embarrassed of the two, and he wondered ifhe ought to go to the rescue. 

Then swiftly Doris collected her forces. "I suppose you know you aretrespassing?" she said. 

At that Hugh laid himself very suddenly down again in the bottom of theboat, and left her to fight her own battles. 

The man on the bank looked down at his small assailant with a face ofgrim decorum. "No, I didn't know, " he said. 

"Well, you are, " said Doris. "All this ground is private property. Youcan see for yourself. It's a cornfield. "

The intruder's eyes travelled over the upstanding sheaves, passedgravely over the man in the punt, and came back to the girl. "Yes; Isee, " he said stolidly. 

"Then don't you think you'd better go?" she said. 

He put his hat on somewhat abruptly. "Yes. I think I had better, " hesaid, and with that he turned on his heel and walked away through thestubble. 

"Such impertinence!" said Doris, as she stepped down the bank to hercompanion. 

"It was rather, " said Hugh. 

She looked at him somewhat sharply. "I don't see that there is anythingto laugh at, " she said. 

"Don't you?" said Hugh. 

"No. Why are you laughing?"

Hugh explained. "It only struck me as being a little funny that youshould order the man off his own ground in that cavalier fashion. "

"Hugh!" Genuine dismay shone in the girl's eyes. "That wasn't--wasn't--"

"Jeff Ironside? Yes, it was, " said Hugh. "I wonder you have never comeacross him before. He works like a nigger. "

"Hugh!" Doris collapsed upon the bank in sheer horror. "I have seen himbefore--seen him several times. I thought he was just--a labourer--tillto-day. "

"Oh, no, " said Hugh. "He's just your hard, outdoor, wholesome farmer. Fine animal, isn't he? Always reminds me of a prize bull. "

"How frightful!" said Doris with a gasp. "It's the worst _faux pas_ Ihave ever made. "

"Cheer up!" said Hugh consolingly. "No doubt he was flattered by thelittle attention. He took it very well. "

"That doesn't make matters any better, " said Doris. "I almost wish hehadn't. "

Whereupon Hugh laughed again. "Oh, don't wish that! I should think hewould be quite a nasty animal when roused. I shouldn't have cared tofight him on your behalf. He could wipe the earth with me were he sominded. "

Doris's eyes, critical though not unkindly, rested upon him as he lay. "Yes, " she said thoughtfully, "I should almost think he could. "

CHAPTER II

THE PLOUGHMAN

It was on a day six weeks later that Doris Elliot next found herselfupon the scene of her discomfiture. She had ridden from her home threemiles distant very early on a morning of September to join a meeting ofthe foxhounds and go cub-hunting. There had been a heavy fall of rain, and the ground was wet and slippery. 

The field that had been all yellow with the shocks of corn was now inprocess of being ploughed, and her horse Hector sank up to the fetlocksat every stride, a fact which he resented with obvious impatience. Sheguided him down to the edge of the river where the ground looked alittle harder. 

The run was over and she had enjoyed it; but she wanted now to take asshort a cut home as possible, and it was through this particular fieldthat the most direct route undoubtedly lay. She was alone, but she knewevery inch of the countryside, and but for this mischance of the ploughshe would have been well on her way. Being a sportswoman, she made thebest of things, and did her utmost to soothe her mount's somewhat fierytemper. 

"You shall have a clean jump at the end, Hector, old boy, " she promisedhim. "We shall soon be out of it. "

But in this matter also she was to receive a check; for when they cameto the clean jump, it was to find a formidable fence of wooden palingconfronting them, intervening directly in their line of march. It seemedthat the energetic owner had been attending to his boundaries with azeal that no huntsman would appreciate. 

Doris bit her lip with a murmured "Too bad!"

There was nothing for it but to skirt the hedge in search of a gate. Hector was naturally even more indignant than she, and stamped andsquealed as she turned him from the obstacle. He also wanted to gethome, and he was tired of fighting his way through ploughed land thatheld him like a bog. To add to their discomfort it had begun to rainagain, and there seemed every prospect of being speedily soaked to theskin. 

Altogether the outlook was depressing; but someone was whistlingcheerily on the farther side of the field, and Doris took heart. It wasa long way to the gate, however, and when she reached it at length itwas to find another disappointment in store. The gate was padlocked. 

She looked round in desperation. Her only chance of escape wasapparently to return by the way she had come by means of a gap which hadnot yet been repaired, and which would lead her in directly theopposite direction to that which she desired to take. 

The rain was coming down in a sharp shower, and Hector was becoming moreand more restive. She halted him by the gate and looked over. Beyond laya field from which she knew the road to be easily accessible. She hatedto turn her back upon it. 

Behind her over a rise came the plough, drawn by two stout horses, driven by a sturdy figure that loomed gigantic against the sky. Glancingback, Doris saw this figure, and an odd little spirit of dare-devilryentered into her. She did not want to come face to face with theploughman, neither did she want to beat a retreat before the five-barredgate that opposed her progress. 

She spoke to Hector reassuringly and backed him several paces. He wasquick to grasp her desire and eager to fall in with it. She felt himbracing himself under her, and she laughed in sheer delight as she sethim at the gate. 

He went at it with a will over the broken ground, rose as she liftedhim, and made a gallant effort to clear the obstacle. But he was tooheavily handicapped. He slipped as he rose to the leap. He blunderedbadly against the top bar of the gate, finally stumbled over and fell onthe other side, pitching his rider headlong into a slough of trampledmud. 

He was up in a moment and careering across the field, but Doris was notso nimble. It was by no means her first tumble, nor had it been whollyunexpected; but she had fallen with considerable violence, and it tookher a second or two to collect her wits. Then, like Hector, she sprangup--only to reel back through the slippery mud and catch at thesplintered gate for support, there to cling sick and dizzy, with eyesfast shut, while the whole world rocked around her in chaosindescribable. 

A full minute must have passed thus, then very suddenly out of theconfusion came a voice. Vaguely she recognized it, but she was toooccupied in the struggle to keep her senses to pay much attention towhat it said. 

"I mustn't faint!" she gasped desperately through her set teeth. "Imustn't faint!"

A steady arm encircled her, holding her up. 

"You'll be all right in half a minute, " said the voice, close to hernow. "You came down rather hard. "

She fought with herself and opened her eyes. Her head was swimmingstill, but she compelled herself to look. 

Jeff Ironside was beside her, one foot lodged upon the lowest bar of thegate while he propped her against his bent knee. 

He looked down at her with a certain sternness of demeanour that wascharacteristic of him. "Take your time, " he said. "It was a nastyknock-out. "

"I--I'm all right, " she told him breathlessly. "Where--where is Hector?"

"If you mean your animal, " he said in the slow, grim way which shebegan to remember as his, "he is probably well on his way home by now. He'll be all right, " he added. "The gate from this field into the roadis open. "

"Oh!" The faintness was overcoming her again as she tried to stand. Sheclutched and held his arm. "I'm sorry, " she whispered. "I--never felt sostupid before. "

"Don't be in a hurry!" he said. "You can't help it. "

She sank back against his support again and so remained for a fewseconds. He stood like a rock till she opened her eyes once more. 

She found his own upon her, but he dropped them instantly. "You are nothurt anywhere, are you?" he said. 

She shook her head. "No, it's nothing. I've wrenched my shoulder alittle, but it isn't much. "

"Which shoulder?"

"The right. No, really it isn't serious. " She winced as he touched itwith his hand nevertheless. 

"Sure?" he said. 

He began to feel it very carefully, and she winced again with indrawnbreath. 

"It's only bruised, " she said. 

"It's painful, anyhow, " he remarked bluntly. "Well, you must be wet tothe skin. You had better come with me to the mill and get dry. "

Doris flushed a little. "Oh, thank you, but really--I don't want to--totrespass on your kindness. I can quite well walk home--from here. "

"You can't, " he said flatly. "Anyhow, you are not going to try. You hadbetter let me carry you. "

But Doris drew back at that with swift decision. "Oh no! I am quite wellnow--I can walk. "

She stood up and he took his foot from the gate. She glanced at the topbar thereof that hung in splinters. 

"I'm so sorry, " she murmured apologetically. 

He also looked at his damaged property. "Yes, it was a pity youattempted it, " he said. 

"I shall know better next time, " she said with a wry smile. "Will itcost much?"

"Well, it can't be mended for nothing, " said Jeff Ironside. "Thingsnever are. "

Doris considered him for a moment. He was certainly a fine animal, asHugh Chesyl had said, well made and well put together. She liked thefreedom of his pose, the strength of the great bull neck. At closequarters he certainly did not look like an ordinary labourer. He had anair of command that his rough clothes could not hide. There was nothingof the clod-hopper about him albeit he followed the plough. He wasobviously a son of the soil, and he would wrest his living therefrom, but he would do it with brain as well as hands. He had a wide foreheadabove his somewhat sombre eyes. 

"I am very sorry, " she said again. 

"I am sorry for you, " he said. "Wouldn't it be as well to get out ofthis rain? It's only a step to the mill. "

She turned with docility and looked towards the two horses standingpatiently where he had left them on the brown slope of the hill. 

"Not that way, " he said. "Come across this field to the road. It is nodistance from there. "

Doris began to gather up her skirt. It was wet through and caked withmud. She caught her breath again as she did it. The pain in her shoulderwas becoming intense. 

And then, to her amazement, Jeff Ironside suddenly stooped and put hisarms about her. Almost before she realized his intention, and while shewas still gasping her astonishment, he had lifted her and begun to movewith long, easy strides over the sodden turf. 

"Oh, " she said, "you--you--really you shouldn't!"

"It's the only thing to do, " he returned. 

And somehow--perhaps because he spoke with such finality--she did notfeel inclined to dispute the point. She submitted with a confused murmurof thanks. 

CHAPTER III

THE APOLOGY

On an old oaken settle, cushioned like a church-pew, before a generous, open fire, Doris began to forget her woes. She looked about her withinterest the while she endeavoured to sip a cup of steaming milk treatedwith brandy that Jeff Ironside had brought her. 

An old, old woman hobbled about the oak-raftered kitchen behind herwhile Jeff himself knelt before her and unlaced her mud-caked boots. Shewould have protested against his doing this had protest been of thesmallest avail, but when she attempted it he only smiled a faint, grimsmile and continued his task. 

As he finally drew them off she thanked him in a small, shy voice. "Youare very kind--much kinder than I deserve, " she said. "Do you know I'veoften thought that I ought to have come to apologize for--for orderingyou off your own ground that day in the summer?"

He looked up at her as he knelt, and for the first time she heard himlaugh. There was something almost boyish in his laugh. It transformedhim utterly, and it had a marvellous effect upon her. 

She laughed also and was instantly at her ease. She suddenly discoveredthat he was young in spite of his ruggedness, and she warmed to him inconsequence. 

"But I really was sorry, " she protested. "And I knew I ought to havetold you so before. But, somehow"--she flushed under his eyes--"I hadn'tthe courage. Besides, I didn't know you. "

"It wasn't a very serious offence, was it?" he asked. 

"I should have been furious in your place, " she said. 

"It takes more than that to make me angry, " said Jeff Ironside. 

She put out her hand to him impulsively, the flush still in her cheeks. 

"I am still perfectly furious with myself, " she told him, "whenever Ithink about it. "

His hand enclosed hers in an all-enveloping grasp. "Then I shouldn'tthink about it any more if I were you, " he said. 

"Very well, I won't, " said Doris; adding with her own quaint air ofgraciousness, "and thank you for being so friendly about it. "

He released her hand somewhat abruptly and got to his feet. "How is yourshoulder now? Any better?"

"Oh, yes, it's better, " she assured him. "Only rather stiff. Now, won'tyou sit down and have your breakfast? Please don't bother about me anymore; I've wasted quite enough of your time. "

He turned towards the table. "You must have some too. And then, whenyou're ready, I will drive you home. "

"Oh, but that will waste your time still more, " she protested. "I'm sureI can walk. "

"I'm sure you won't try, " he rejoined with blunt deliberation. "I hopeyou don't mind eating in the kitchen, Miss Elliot. I would have had afire in the parlour if I had expected you. "

"But, of course, I don't mind, " she said. "And it's quite the finest oldkitchen I've ever seen. "

He turned to the old woman who still hovered in the background. "Allright, Granny. Sit down and have your own. "

"I'll wait on the lady first, Master Jeff, " she returned, smiling uponhim. 

"No. I'm going to wait on the lady, " said Jeff. "You sit down. "

He had his way. It occurred to Doris that he usually did so. Andpresently he was waiting upon her as she lay against the cushions, asthough she had been a princess in distress. 

Their intimacy progressed steadily during the meal, and very soonDoris's shyness had wholly worn away. She could not quite decide if Jeffwere shy or not. He was obviously quiet by nature. But his grimnesscertainly disappeared, and more than once she found herself wondering athis consideration and thought for her. 

He went out after breakfast to put in the horse, and at once his oldhousekeeper expanded into ardent praise of him. 

"He works as hard as ten men, " she said. "That's how it is he gets on. Ioften think to myself that he works harder than he ought. It's all workand no play with him. But there, it's no good my talking. He only laughsat me, though I brought him up from his cradle. And a fine baby he wasto be sure. His poor mother--she came of gentlefolk, ran away from homeshe did to marry Farmer Ironside--she died three days after he was born, which was a pity, for the old master was just wrapped up in her, and wasnever the same again. Well, as I was saying, his poor mother, she'd sether heart on his being given the education of a gentleman; which he was, but he always clung to the land did Master Jeff. He was sent toFordstead Grammar School along with the gentry, and a fine figure he cutthere. But then his father died, and he had to settle down to farming atseventeen, and he's been farming ever since. He's very well-to-do isMaster Jeff, thanks to his own energy and perseverance; for farmingisn't what it was. But it's time he took a rest and looked about him. He's thirty come Michaelmas, and he ought to be settling down. As I sayto him: 'Granny Grimshaw won't be here for always, and you won't likeany other kind of housekeeper save and unless she's a wife as well. ' Healways laughs at me, " said Granny Grimshaw, shaking her head. "But it'strue as the sun's above us. Master Jeff ought to be stirring himself tofind a wife. But he'll go to the gentry for one, same as his father didbefore him. He won't be satisfied with any of them saucy country lasses. He don't ever mix with them. He'll look high will Master Jeff if thetime ever comes that he looks at all. He's a gentleman himself rightthrough to the backbone, and he'll marry a lady. "

By the time Jeff returned to announce that the rain had ceased and thecart was waiting, there were not many of his private affairs of theknowledge of which Doris had not been placed in possession. 

She was smiling a little to herself over the old woman's garrulousconfidences when he entered, and it was evident that he caught thesmile, for he looked from her to his housekeeper with a touch ofsharpness. 

Granny Grimshaw hastened to efface herself with apologetic promptitude, and retired to the scullery to wash up. 

Doris turned at once to her host. "Will you take me over the mill someday?" she asked. 

He looked momentarily surprised at the suggestion, and then in a secondhe smiled. "Of course. When will you come?"

"On Sunday?" she ventured. 

"It won't be working then. "

"No. But other days you are busy. "

Jeff dropped upon his knees again in front of her, and turned hisattention to brushing the worst of the mud from her skirt. He attackedit with extreme vigour, his smooth lips firmly shut. 

At the end of nearly a minute he paused. "I shan't be too busy for thatany day, " he said. 

"Not really?" Doris sounded a little doubtful. 

He looked at her, and somehow his brown eyes made her lower her own. They held a mastery, a confidence, that embarrassed her subtly and quiteinexplicably. 

"Come any time, " he said, "except market-day. Mrs. Grimshaw will alwaysknow where I am to be found, and will send me word. "

She nodded. "I shall come one morning then. I will ride round, shall I?"

He returned to his task, faintly smiling. "Don't take any five-barredgates on your way!" he said. 

"No, I shan't do that again, " she promised. "Five-barred gates havetheir drawbacks. "

"As well as their advantages, " said Jeff Ironside enigmatically. 

CHAPTER IV

CORN

"Master Jeff!" The kitchen door opened with a nervous creak and awrinkled brown face, encircled by the frills of a muslin nightcap, peered cautiously in. "Are you asleep, my dear?" asked Granny Grimshawwith tender solicitude. 

He was sitting at the table with his elbows upon it and his head in hishands. She saw the smoke curling upwards from his pipe, and rightlydeduced from this that he was not asleep. 

She came forward, candle in hand. "Master Jeff, you'll pardon me, I'msure. But it's getting so late--nigh upon twelve o'clock. You won't begetting anything of a night's rest if you don't go to bed. "

Jeff raised his head. His eyes, sombre with thought, met hers. "Is itlate?" he said abstractedly. 

"And you such an early riser, " said Granny Grimshaw. 

She went across to the fire and began to rake it out, he watching her insilence, still with that sombre look in his dark eyes. 

Very suddenly Granny Grimshaw turned and, poker in hand, confrontedhim. She was wearing a large Paisley shawl over her pink flannelnightdress, but the figure she presented, though quaint, was notunimposing. 

"Master Jeff, " she said, "don't you be too modest and retiring, my dear. You're just as good as the best of 'em. "

A slow, rather hard smile drew the corners of the man's mouth. "Theydon't think so, " he observed. 

"They mayn't, " said Granny Grimshaw severely. "But that don't alter whatis. You're a good man, and, what's more, a man of substance, which isbetter than can be said for old Colonel Elliot, with one foot in thegrave, so to speak, and up to his eyes in debt. He owes money all overthe place, I'm told, and the place is mortgaged for three times itsproper value. His wife has a little of her own, so they say; but thispoor young lady as was here this morning, she'll be thrown on the worldwithout a penny to her name. A winsome young lady, too, Master Jeff. Andshe don't look as if she were made to stand many hard knocks. She maybelong to the county, as they say, but her heart's in the right place. She'd make a bonny mistress in this old place, and it wants a mistressbadly enough. Old Granny Grimshaw has done her best, my dear, and alwayswill. But she isn't the woman she was. " An odd, wheedling note creptinto the old woman's voice. "She'll be wanting to sit in thechimney-corner soon, Master Jeff, and just mind the little ones. Youwouldn't refuse her that?"

Jeff rose abruptly and went across to the fire to knock the ashes fromhis pipe. Having done so, he remained bent for several seconds, asthough he were trying to read his fortune in the dying embers. Then veryslowly he straightened himself and spoke. 

"I think you forget, " he said, "that Colonel Elliot was the son of anearl. "

But Granny Grimshaw remained unabashed and wholly unimpressed. She laiddown the poker with decision. "I was never one to sneer at good birth, "she said. "But I hold that you come of a breed as old and as good as anyin the land. Your father was a yeoman of the good old-fashioned sort;and your mother--well, everyone hereabouts knows that she was a ladyborn and bred. I don't see what titles have to do with breeding, " saidGranny Grimshaw stoutly. "Not that I despise the aristocracy. Dear me, no! But when all is said and done, no man can be better than agentleman, and no woman can look higher. And there are gentlemen inevery walk of life just the same as there are the other sort. And you, Master Jeff, you're one of the gentlemen. "

Jeff laughed a somewhat grim laugh, and turned to put out the lamp. 

"You're a very nice old woman, Granny, " he said. "But you are not animpartial judge. "

"Ah, my dearie, " said Granny Grimshaw, "but I know what women's heartsare made of. "

A somewhat irrelevant retort, which nevertheless closed the discussion. 

They went upstairs together, and parted on the landing. 

"And you'll go to bed now, won't you?" urged Granny Grimshaw. 

"All right, " said Jeff. 

But once in his own room he went to the low lattice-window thatoverlooked the mill-stream, and stood before it looking gravely forthover the still water. It was a night of many stars. Beyond the streamthere stretched a dream-valley across which the river mists weretrailing. The tall trees in the meadows stood up with a ghostlymagnificence against them. The whole scene was one of wondrous peace, and all, as far as he could see, was his. But the man's eyes broodedover his acres with a dumb dissatisfaction, and when he turned from thewindow at last it was with a gesture of hopelessness. 

"God help me for a fool!" he muttered between his teeth. "If I went nearher, they would kick me out by the back door. "

He began to undress with savage energy, and finally flung himself downon the old four-poster in which his father had lain before him, lyingthere motionless, with fixed and sleepless eyes, while the hours went byover his head. 

Once--it was just before daybreak--he rose and went again to the openwindow that overlooked his prosperous valley. A change had come over theface of it. The mists were lifting, lifting. He saw the dark forms ofcattle standing here and there. The river wound, silent and mysterious, away into the dim, quiet distance. A church clock struck, its tone vagueand remote as a voice from another world. And as if in answer to itssolemn call a lark soared upwards from the meadow by the mill-streamwith a burst of song. 

The east was surely lightening. The night was gone. Jeff leaned hisburning temple against the window-frame with a feeling akin to physicalsickness. He was tired--dead tired; but he knew that he could not sleepnow. The world was waking. From the farmyard round the corner of thehouse there came the flap of wings and the old rooster's blatantgreeting to the dawn. 

In another half-hour the whole place would be stirring. He had wasted awhole night's rest. 

Fiercely he straightened himself. Surely his brain must be going! Why, he had only spoken to her twice. And then, like a spirit that mocked, the words ran through his brain: "Who ever loved that loved not at firstsight?"

So this was love, was it? This--was love!

With clenched hands he stood looking out to the dawning, while the wildfever leaped and seethed in his veins. He called up before his innervision the light, dainty figure, the level, grey eyes, fearless, yet ina fashion shy, the glow of the sun-tanned skin, the soft, thick hair, brown in the shadow, gold in the sun. 

Straight before him, low in the sky, hung the morning star. It almostlooked as if it were drifting earthwards with all its purity, all itsglistening sweetness, drifting straight to the heart of the world. Hefixed his eyes upon it, drawn by its beauty almost in spite of himself. It was the only star in the sky, and it almost seemed as if it had amessage for him. 

But the day was dawning, the star fading, and the message hard to read. Why had she refused to marry Chesyl? he asked himself. The man waslukewarm in speech and action; but that surely was but the way of theworld to which he belonged. No excess of emotion was ever encouragedthere. Doubtless behind that amiable mask there beat the same devouringlonging that throbbed in his own racing pulses. Surely Doris knew this!Surely she understood her own kind!

He recalled those words of hers that he had overheard, the slowutterance of them as of some pronouncement of doom. "If I can't havecorn, I won't have husks. I will die of starvation sooner. "

He had caught the pain in those words. Had Hugh Chesyl failed to do so?If so, Hugh Chesyl was a fool. He had never thought very highly of him, though he supposed him to be clever after his own indolent fashion. 

Chesyl was the old squire's nephew and heir--a highly suitable _parti_for any girl. Yet Doris had refused him, not wholly without ignominy. Agentleman, too! Jeff's mouth twisted. The thought came to him, andripened to steady conviction, that had Chesyl taken the trouble to woo, he must in time have won. The girl was miserable enough to admit thefact of her misery, and he offered her marriage with him as a friendlymeans of escape. On other ground he could have won her. On this groundhe was probably the least likely man to win. She asked for corn, and heoffered husks. What wonder that she preferred starvation!

His hands were still clenched as he turned from the window. Oh, to havebeen in Hugh Chesyl's place! She would have had no complaint then tomake as to the quality of his offering. He would never have suffered herto go hungry. And yet the feeling that Hugh Chesyl loved her lingeredstill in his soul. Ah, what a fool! What a fool!

 * * * * *

It was nearly three hours later that Jim Dawlish the miller answeredJeff Ironside's gruff morning greeting with an eager, "Have you heardthe news, sir?"

Dawlish was of a cheery, expansive disposition, and not much of thevillage gossip ever escaped him or remained with him. 

"What news?" demanded Jeff. 

"Why, about the old Colonel up at the Place, to be sure, " said Dawlish, advancing his floury person towards the doorway in which stood themaster's square, strong figure. 

"Colonel Elliot?" queried Jeff sharply. "What about him?"

Dawlish wagged a knowing head. "Ah, you may well ask that, sir. Hedied--early this morning--quite unexpected. Had a fit or some'at. Theysay it's an open question whether there'll be enough money to bury him. He has creditors all over the county. "

"Good heavens!" said Jeff. He drew back swiftly into the open air as ifhe found the atmosphere of the mill oppressive. "Are you quite sure it'strue?" he questioned. "How did you hear?"

"It's true enough, " said the miller, with keen enjoyment. "I heard itfrom the police-sergeant. He says it was so sudden that there'll have tobe an inquest. I'm sorry for the widow and orphans though. It'll fall abit hard on them. "

"Good heavens!" said Jeff again. "Good heavens!"

And then very abruptly he turned and left the mill. 

"What's the matter with the boss?" asked the miller's underling. "Didthe Colonel owe him money too?"

"That's about the ticket, " said Jim Dawlish cheerily. "That comes oflending, that does. It just shows the truth of the old saying, 'Stick toyour money and your money'll stick to you. ' There never was a truerword. "

"Wonder if he's lost much?" said the underling speculatively. 

Whereupon Jim Dawlish waxed suddenly severe. He never tolerated idlegossip among his inferiors. "And that's no concern of yours, CharlieBates, " he said. "You get on with your work and don't bother your puddenhead about what ain't in no way your business. Mr. Ironside is about thesoundest man within fifty miles, and don't you forget it!"

"He wasn't best pleased to hear about the poor old Colonel though forall that, " said Charlie Bates tenaciously. "And I'd give something toknow what'll come of it. "

If he had known, neither he nor Jim Dawlish would have got through muchwork that morning. 

CHAPTER V

A BARGAIN

It was nearly a fortnight after Colonel Elliot's death that JeffIronside went to the stable somewhat suddenly one morning, saddled hismare, and, without a word to anyone, rode away. 

Granny Grimshaw was the only witness of his departure, and she turnedfrom the kitchen window with a secret smile and nod. 

It was an autumn morning of mist and sunshine. The beech trees shonegolden overhead, and the robins trilled loudly from the clematis-drapedhedges. Jeff rode briskly, with too set a purpose to bestow anyattention upon these things. He took a short cut across his own land andentered the grounds belonging to the Place by a side drive seldom used. 

Thence he rode direct to the front door of the great Georgian house andboldly demanded admittance. 

The footman who opened to him looked him up and down interrogatively. "Miss Elliot is at home, but I don't know if she will see anyone, " hesaid uncompromisingly. 

"Ask her!" said Jeff tersely. "My name is Ironside. "

While the man was gone he took the mare to a yew tree that shadowed thedrive at a few yards' distance and tied her to it. There was an air ofgrim resolution about all his actions. This accomplished, he returned tothe great front door. 

As he reached it there came the sound of light, hastening feet within, and in a moment the half-open door was thrown back. Doris herself, veryslim and pale, but withal very queenly in her deep mourning, came forthwith outstretched hand to greet him. 

"But why did they leave you here?" she said. "Please come in!"

He followed her in with scarcely a word. 

She led him down a long oak passage to a room that was plainly thelibrary, and there in her quick, gracious way she turned and faced him. 

"I am very pleased to see you, Mr. Ironside. I was going to write to youto thank you again for all your kindness, but lately--there has been somuch to think about--so much to do. I know you will understand. Do sitdown!"

But Jeff remained squarely on his feet. "I hope you have quite recoveredfrom your fall?" he said. 

"Quite, thank you. " She smiled faintly. "It seems such an age ago. Hector came home quite safely too. " She broke off short, paused as ifseeking for words, then said rather abruptly, "I shall never go huntingagain. "

"You mean not this year?" suggested Jeff. 

She looked at him, and he saw that her smile Was piteous. "No, I meannever. Everything is to be sold. Haven't you heard?"

He nodded. "Yes, I had heard. I hoped it wasn't true. "

"Yes, it is true. " Her two hands fastened very tightly upon the back ofa chair. There was something indescribably pathetic in the action. Sheseemed on the verge of saying more, but in the end she did not say it. She just stood looking at him with the wide grey eyes that tried so hardnot to be tragic. 

Jeff stood looking back with great sturdiness and not much apparentfeeling. He offered no word of condolence or sympathy. Only after a verydecided pause he said, "I wonder what you will do?"

"I am going to London, " she said. 

"Soon?" Jeff's voice was curt, almost gruff. 

"Yes, very soon. " She hesitated momentarily, then went on rapidly, as ifit were a relief to tell someone. "My father's life was insured. It hasleft my stepmother enough to live on; but, of course, not here. Theplace is mortgaged up to the hilt. I have nothing at all. I have got tomake my own living. "

"You?" said Jeff. 

She smiled again faintly, "Yes, I. What is there in that? Lots of womenwork for their living. "

"You are not going to work for yours, " he said. 

She thrust the chair from her with a quick little movement of the hands. "I would begin to-morrow--if I only knew how. But I don't--yet. I've gotto look about me for a little. I am going first to a cousin atKensington. "

"Who doesn't want you, " said Jeff. 

She looked at him in sharp surprise. "Who--who told you that?"

"You did, " he said doggedly. "At least, you told Mr. Chesyl--in mypresence. "

"Ah, I remember!" She uttered a tremulous little laugh. "That was theday I caught you eavesdropping and ordered you off your own ground. "

"It was, " said Jeff. "I heard several things that day, and Iguessed--other things. " He paused, still looking straight at her. "MissElliot, " he said, "wouldn't it be easier for you to marry than to workfor your living?"

The pretty brows went up in astonishment. "Oh!" she said, in quickconfusion. "You heard that too?"

"Wouldn't it be easier?" persisted Jeff in his slow, stubborn way. 

She shook her head swiftly and vehemently. "I shall never marry Mr. Chesyl, " she said with determination. 

"Where is he?" asked Jeff. 

The soft colour rose in her face at the question. She looked away fromhim for the first time. "I don't quite know where he is. I believe he isup north somewhere--in Scotland. "

"He knows what has been happening here?" questioned Jeff. 

She made a slight movement as of protest. "No doubt, " she said in a lowvoice. 

Jeff's square jaw hardened. Abruptly he thrust Chesyl out of theconversation. "It doesn't matter, " he said. "That isn't what I came totalk about. May I tell you just what I have come for? Will you give me apatient hearing?"

She turned to him again in renewed surprise. "Of course, " she said. 

His dark eyes were upon her. "It may not please you, " he said slowly, "though I ask you to believe that it is not my intention to give youoffence. "

"But, of course, I know you would not, " she said. 

Jeff's fingers clenched upon his riding-switch. He spoke withdifficulty, but not without a certain native dignity that made himimpressive. "I have come, " he said, "just to say to you that if it ispossible that no one in your own world is wanting you, I am wanting you. All that I have is absolutely at your disposal. I heard you say--thatday--that you would like to be a farmer's wife. Well--if you reallymeant it--you have your opportunity. "

"Mr. Ironside!" She was gazing at him in wide-eyed amazement. 

A dark flush rose in his swarthy face under her eyes, "I had to say it, "he said with heavy deliberation, "though I know I'm only hammering nailsinto my own coffin. I had to take my only chance of telling you. Ofcourse, I know you won't listen. I'm not of your sort--respectableenough, but not quite--not quite--" He broke off grimly, and for aninstant his teeth showed clenched upon his lower lip. "But if by anychance, when everything else has failed, " resolutely he went on, "youcould bring yourself to think of me--in that way, I shall always beready, quite ready, for you. That's what I came to say. "

He straightened himself upon the words, and made as if he would turn andleave her. But Doris was too quick for him. She moved like a flash. Shecame between him and the door. "Please--please, " she said, "you mustn'tgo yet!"

He stopped instantly and she stood before him breathing quickly, herhand upon the door. 

She did not speak again very quickly; she was plainly trying to masterconsiderable agitation. 

Jeff waited immovably with eyes unvaryingly upon her. "I don't want tohurry you, " he said at last. "I know, of course, what your answer willbe. But I can wait for it. "

That faint, fugitive smile of hers went over her face. She took her handfrom the door. 

"You--you haven't been very--explicit, have you?" she said. "Areyou--are you being just kind to me, Mr. Ironside, like--like HughChesyl?"

Her voice quivered as she asked the question, but her eyes met his withdirect steadfastness. 

He lowered his own very suddenly. "No, " he said. "I wouldn't insult youby being kind. I shouldn't ask you to marry me if I didn't love you withall my heart and soul. "

The words came quickly, with something of a burning quality. She made aslight movement as if she were taken by surprise. 

After a moment she spoke. "There are two kinds of love, " she said. "There's the big, unselfish kind--the real thing; and there's theother--the kind that demands everything, and even then, perhaps, isnever satisfied. You hardly know me well enough to--to care for me inthe first big way, do you? You don't even know if I'm worth it. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Jeff Ironside. "I think I do know you wellenough for that. Anyhow, if you could bring yourself to marry me, Ishould be satisfied. The right to take care of you--make youcomfortable--wait on you--that's all I'm asking. That would be enoughfor me--more than I've dared to hope for. "

"That would make you happy?" she asked. 

He kept his eyes lowered. "It would be--enough, " he repeated. 

She uttered a sudden quick sigh. "But wouldn't you rather marry a womanwho was in love with you in just the ordinary way?" she said. 

"No, " said Jeff curtly. 

"It would be much better for you, " she protested. 

He smiled a grim smile. "I am the best judge of that, " he said. 

She held out her hand to him. "Mr. Ironside, tell me honestly, wouldn'tyou despise me if I married you in that way--taking all and givingnothing?"

He crushed her hand in his. The red blood rose to his forehead. Helooked at her for a moment--only a moment--and instantly looked awayagain. 

"No, " he said, "I shouldn't. "

"I should despise myself, " said Doris. 

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

She smiled again with lips that quivered. "No, you don't understand. You're too big for me altogether. I can't say 'Yes, ' but I feel veryhighly honoured all the same. You'll believe that, won't you?"

"Why can't you say 'Yes'?" asked Jeff. 

She hesitated momentarily. "You see, I'm afraid I don't care foryou--like that, " she said. 

"Does that matter?" said Jeff. 

She looked at him, her hand still in his. "Don't you think so?"

"No, I don't, " he said, "unless you think you couldn't be happy. "

"I was thinking of you, " she said gently. 

"Of me?" He looked surprised for an instant, and again his eyes met hersin a quick glance. "If you're going to think of me, " he said, "you'll doit. I have told you, you needn't be afraid of my expecting too much. "

But she shook her head. "I should be much more afraid of taking too muchfrom you, " she said. "The little I could offer would never satisfy you. "

"Yes it would, " he insisted. "I'm only asking to stand between you andtrouble. It's all I want in life. "

Again his eyes were upon her, dark and resolute. His hand held hers in asteady grip. For the first time her own resolution began to falter. 

"Let me write to you, Mr. Ironside, " she said at last, with a vague ideaof softening a refusal that had become inexplicably hard. 

"Write and say 'No'?" said Jeff. 

She smiled a little, but her eyes filled with sudden tears. "You make itvery hard for me to say 'No, '" she said. 

"I would like to make it impossible, " he said. 

"Even when I have told you that I can't--that I don't--love you in theordinary way?" she said almost pleadingly. 

"I don't want to be loved in the ordinary way, " he answered doggedly. 

"I should be a perpetual disappointment to you, " she said. 

"I would rather have even that than--nothing, " said Jeff. 

One of the tears ran over and fell upon their clasped hands. "In fact, you want me at any price, " she said. 

"At any price, " said Jeff. 

She bent her head and choked back a sob. "And no one else wants me atall, " she whispered. 

He stooped towards her. Perhaps for her peace of mind it was as wellthat she did not see the sudden fire that blazed in his deep-set eyes ashe did so. 

"So you'll change your mind, " he said, after a moment, to the bowedhead. "You'll have me--you will?"

She caught back another sob and said nothing. 

He straightened himself sharply. "Miss Elliot, if it's going to make youmiserable, you had better send me away. I'll go--if it's for that. "

He would have released her hand, but it tightened very suddenly uponhis. "No, don't go--don't go!" she said. 

"But you're crying, " muttered Jeff uneasily. 

She gave a big gulp and raised her head. The tears were running down hercheeks, but she smiled at him bravely notwithstanding. "I believe Ishould cry--much more--if you were to go now, " she told him, with aquaint effort at humour. 

Jeff Ironside put a strong grip upon himself. His heart was thumpinglike the strokes of a heavy hammer. "Then you'll have me?" he said. 

She put her other hand, with a very winning gesture of confidence, intohis. "I don't see how I can help it, " she said. "You've knocked down allmy obstacles. But you do understand, don't you? You won't--won't--"

"Abuse your trust? No, never!" said Jeff Ironside. "I will die by my ownhand sooner. "

"Ah, I can't help liking you, " Doris said impulsively, as if inexplanation or excuse. "You're so big. "

"Thank you, " Jeff said very earnestly. "And you won't cry any more?"

She uttered a whimsical little laugh. "But I wasn't crying for myself, "she said, as she dried her eyes. "I was crying for you. "

"Well, you mustn't, " said Jeff. "You have given me all I want--much morethan I dared to hope for. " He paused a moment, then abruptly, "You won'tthink better of it when I'm gone, will you?" he said. "You won't writeand say you have changed your mind?"

She gave him her hand again with an air of comradeship. "It's a bargain, Mr. Ironside, " she said, with gentle dignity. "A very one-sided one, Ifear, but still--a bargain. "

"I beg your pardon, " murmured Jeff. 

CHAPTER VI

THE WEDDING PRESENT

The marriage of Jeff Ironside to Colonel Elliot's daughter created asensation in the neighbourhood even greater than that which followed theColonel's death. But the ceremony itself was strictly private. It tookplace so quietly and so suddenly very early on a misty October morningthat it was over before most people knew anything about it. Jim Dawlishknew, and was present with old Granny Grimshaw; but, save for the familylawyer who gave away the bride and the aged rector who married them, noone else was in the secret. 

Mrs. Elliot knew, but she and her stepdaughter had never been insympathy, and she had already left the place and gone to town. 

Very small and pathetic looked the bride in her deep mourning on thatdim autumn morning, but she played her part with queenly dignity, unfaltering, undismayed. If she had acted upon impulse she was fullyprepared to face the consequences. 

As for Jeff, he was gruff almost to rudeness, so desperate was theturmoil of his soul. Not one word did he address to his bride from themoment of entering the church to that of leaving it save such as werecontained in the marriage service. And even when they passed outtogether into the grey churchyard he remained grimly silent till sheturned with a little smile and addressed him. 

"Good-morning, Jeff!" she said, and her slender, ungloved hand, verycold but superbly confident, found its way into his. 

He looked down at her then and found his voice, the while his fingersclosed protectingly upon hers. "You're cold, " he said. "They ought tohave warmed the church. "

She turned her face up to the sky. "The sun will be through soon. Willyou take me home across the fields?"

"Too wet, " said Jeff. 

"Not if we keep to the path, " she said. "I must just say good-bye to Mr. Webster first. "

Mr. Webster was the family lawyer. He came up with stilted phrases offelicitation which sent Jeff instantly back into his impenetrable shellof silence. Doris made reply on his behalf and her own with a daintygraciousness that covered all difficulties, and finally extricatedherself and Jeff from the situation with a dexterity that left himspellbound. 

She had her way. They went by way of the fields, he and she alonethrough the lifting mist, while Granny Grimshaw and Jim Dawlish marchedsolemnly back to the mill by the road. 

"It's a very good morning's work, " asserted Granny Grimshaw with muchsatisfaction. "I always felt that Master Jeff would never marry any buta lady. "

"I'd rather him than me, " returned Jim Dawlish obscurely. 

Which remark Granny Grimshaw treated as unworthy of notice. 

As Jeff Ironside and his bride neared the last stile the sun camethrough and shone upon all things. 

"I'm glad we came this way, " she said. 

Jeff said nothing. He never spoke unless he had something to say. 

They reached the stile. He strode over and reached back a hand to her. She took it, mounted and stepped over, then sat down unexpectedly on thetop bar with the hand in hers. 

"Jeff!" she said. 

He looked up at her. Her voice was small and shy, her cheeks verydelicately flushed. 

"What is it?" said Jeff. 

She looked down at the brown hand she held, all roughened and hardenedby toil, and hesitated. 

"Well?" said Jeff. 

She turned her eyes upon his face. "Are you going back to work to-day, just as if--as if nothing had happened?" she asked. 

He looked straight back at her. "You don't want me, do you?" he said. 

She nodded. "Shall we go for a picnic?" she said. 

"A picnic!" He seemed surprised at the suggestion. 

She laughed a little. "Do you never go for picnics? I do--all by myselfsometimes. It's rather fun, you know. "

"By yourself?" said Jeff. 

She rose from her perch. "It's more fun with someone certainly, " shesaid. 

Jeff's face reflected her smile for an instant. "All right, " he said. "I'll take a holiday for once. But come home now and have somebreakfast. "

She stepped down beside him. "It's nice of you to give me the very firstthing I ask for, " she said. "Will you do something else for me?"

"Yes, " said Jeff. 

"Then will you call me Dot?" she said. "It was the pet name my mothergave me. No one has used it since she died. "

"Dot, " repeated Jeff. "You really want me to call you that?"

"But, of course, " she said, smiling, "you haven't called me anythingyet. Please begin at once! It really isn't difficult. "

"Very well, Dot, " he said. "And where are we going for our picnic?"

"Oh, not very far, " she said. "Somewhere within a quite easy walk. "

"Can't we ride?" suggested Jeff. 

"Ride?" She looked at him in surprise. 

"I have a horse who would carry you, " he said. 

"Have you--have you, really?" Quick pleasure came into her eyes. "Oh, Jeff, how kind of you!"

"No, it isn't, " said Jeff bluntly. "I want you to be happy. "

She laughed her quick, light laugh. "So you're going to spoil me?" shesaid. 

They reached the pretty Mill House above the stream and found breakfastawaiting them in the oak-panelled parlour that overlooked a sunnyorchard. 

"How absolutely sweet!" said Doris. 

He came and stood beside her at the window, looking silently forth. 

She glanced at him half-shyly. "Aren't you very fond of it all?"

"Yes, " he said. 

"And I think I am going to be, " said Doris. 

"I hope you will, " said Jeff. 

She turned from him to Granny Grimshaw who entered at the moment with ahot dish. 

"I don't think we ought to have been married so early, " she said. "Youmust be quite tired out. Now, please, Mrs. Grimshaw, do sit down and letme wait on you for a change!"

Granny Grimshaw smiled at the bare suggestion. 

"No, no, Mrs. Ironside, my dear. This is for you and Master Jeff. I'vegot mine in the kitchen. "

"I never heard such a thing!" declared Doris. "Jeff, surely you are notgoing to allow that!"

Jeff came from the window. "Of course you must join us, Granny, " hesaid. 

But Granny Grimshaw was obdurate on that point. "My place is in thekitchen, " she said firmly. "And there I must bide. But I am ready toshow you the way to your room, my dear, whenever you want to go. "

Doris bent forward impulsively and kissed her. "You are much, much tookind to me, you and Jeff, " she said. 

But as soon as she was alone with Jeff her shyness returned. She couldnot feel as much at ease with him in the house as in the open air. Shedid not admit it even to herself, but deep in her heart she had begun tobe a little afraid. 

Till then she had gone blindly forward, taking in desperation the onlycourse that seemed to offer her escape from a position that had becomewholly intolerable. But now for the first time misgivings arose withinher. She remembered how slight was her knowledge of the man to whom shehad thus impetuously entrusted her future; and, remembering, somethingof her ready confidence went from her. She fell silent also. 

"You are not eating anything, " said Jeff. She started at his voice andlooked up. 

"No, I'm not hungry, " she said. "I shall eat all the more presently whenwe get out into the open. "

He said no more, but finished his own breakfast with businesslikepromptitude. 

"Mrs. Grimshaw will take you upstairs, " he said then, and went to thedoor to call her. 

"Where will you be?" Doris asked him shyly, as he stood back for her topass. 

"I am going round to the stable, " he said. 

"May I come to you there?" she suggested. 

He assented gravely: "Do!"

Granny Grimshaw was in her most garrulous mood. She took Doris up theold steep stairs and into the low-ceiled room with the lattice windowthat looked over the river meadows. 

"It's the best room in the house, " she told her. "Master Jeff was bornin it, and he's slept here for the past ten years. You won't be lonely, my dear. My room is just across the passage, and he has gone to the roomat the end which he always had as a boy. "

"This is a lovely room, " said Doris. 

She stood where Jeff had stood before the open window and looked acrossthe valley. 

"I hope you will be very happy here, my dear, " said Granny Grimshawbehind her. 

Doris turned round to her impetuously. "Dear Mrs. Grimshaw, I don't likeJeff to give up the best room to me, " she said. "Isn't there another onethat I could have?"

She glanced towards a door that led out of the room in which they were. 

"Yes, go in, my dear!" said Granny Grimshaw with a chuckle. "It's allfor you. "

Doris opened the door with a quick flush on her cheeks. 

"Master Jeff thought you would like a little sitting-room of your own, "said the old woman behind her. 

"Oh, he shouldn't. He shouldn't!" Doris said. 

She stood on the threshold of a sunny room that overlooked the gardenwith its hedge of lavender and beyond it the orchard with its wealth ofripe apples shining in the sun. The room had been evidently furnishedfor her especial use. There was a couch in one corner, a cottage pianoin another, and a writing-table near the window. 

"The old master bought those things for his bride, " said GrannyGrimshaw. "They are just as good as new yet, and Master Jeff has had thepiano put in order for you. I expect you know how to play the piano, mydear?"

Doris went forward into the room. The tears were not far from her eyes. "He is too good to me. He is much too good, " she said. 

"Ah, my dear, and you'll be good to him too, won't you?" said GrannyGrimshaw coaxingly. 

"I'll do my best, " said Doris quietly. 

She went down to Jeff in the stable-yard a little later with a heartbrimming with gratitude, but that strange, new shyness was with heralso. She did not know how to give him her thanks. 

He was waiting for her, and escorted her across to the stable. "You willlike to see your mount, " he said, cutting her short almost before shehad begun. 

She followed him into the stable. Jeff's own mare poked an inquiringnose over the door of her loose-box. Doris stopped to fondle her. Jeffplunged a hand into his pocket and brought out some sugar. 

From the stall next to them came a low whinny. Doris, in the act offeeding the mare, looked up sharply. The next moment with a little cryshe had sprung forward and was in the stall with her arms around theneck of its occupant--a big bay, who nozzled against her shoulder withevident pleasure. 

"Oh, Hector! Hector!" she cried. "However did you come here?"

"I bought him, " said Jeff, "as a wedding present. "

"For me? Oh, Jeff!" She left Hector and came to him with both handsoutstretched. "Oh, Jeff, I don't know how to thank you. You are so muchtoo good. What can I say?"

He took the hands and gripped them. His dark eyes looked straight andhard into hers, and a little tremor went through her. She lowered herown instinctively, and in the same instant he let her go. He did notutter a word, and she turned from him in silence with a face on fire. 

She made no further effort to express her gratitude. 

CHAPTER VII

THE END OF THE PICNIC

Those odd silences of Jeff's fell very often throughout the day, andthey lay upon Doris's spirit like a physical weight. They rode throughautumn woodlands, and picnicked on the side of a hill. The day was warmand sunny, and the whole world shone as through a pearly veil. Therewere blackberries in abundance, large and ripe, and Doris wandered aboutpicking them during the afternoon while Jeff lounged against a tree andsmoked. 

He did not offer to join her, but she had a feeling that his eyesfollowed her wherever she went, and a great restlessness kept hermoving. She could not feel at her ease in his vicinity. She wanted veryurgently to secure his friendship. She had counted upon that day in hissociety to do so. But it seemed to be his resolve to hold aloof. Heseemed disinclined to commit himself to anything approaching intimacy, and that attitude of his filled her with misgiving. Had he begun torepent of the one-sided bargain, she asked herself? Or could it be thathe also was oppressed by shyness? She longed intensely to know. 

The sun was sinking low in the sky when at length reluctantly she wentback to him. "It's getting late, " she said. "Don't you think we ought togo home?"

He was standing in the level sun-rays gazing sombrely down into thevalley from which already the mists were beginning to rise. 

He turned at her voice, and she knew he looked at her, though she didnot meet his eyes. For a moment or two he stood, not speaking, but asthough on the verge of speech; and her heart quickened to a nervousthrobbing. 

Then unexpectedly he turned upon his heel. "Yes. Wait here, won't you, while I go and fetch the animals?"

He went, and a sharp sense of relief shot through her. She was sure thathe had something on his mind; but inexplicably she was thankful that hehad not uttered it. 

The sun was dropping out of sight behind the opposite hill, and she wasconscious of a growing chill in the atmosphere. A cockchafer whirredpast her and buried itself in a tuft of grass hard by. In the woodbehind her a robin trilled a high sweet song. From the farther side ofthe valley came a trail of smoke from a cottage bonfire, and the scentof it hung heavy in the evening air. 

All these things she knew and loved, and they were to be hers for therest of her life; yet her heart was heavy within her. She turned andlooked after Jeff with a wistful drooping of the lips. 

He had passed out of sight behind some trees, but as she turned sheheard a footfall in the wood close at hand, and almost simultaneously aman emerged carrying a gun. 

He stopped at sight of her, and on the instant Doris made a swiftmovement of recognition. 

"Why Hugh!" she said. 

He came straight to her, with hand outstretched. "My dear, dear girl!"he said. 

Her hand lay in his, held in a clasp such as Hugh Chesyl had neverbefore given her, and then all in a moment she withdrew it. 

"Why, where have you come from?" she said, with a little nervous laugh. 

His eyes looked straight down to hers. "I've been yachting, " he said, "along Argyll and Skye. I didn't know till the day before yesterdayabout the poor old Colonel. I came straight back directly I knew, gothere this morning, but heard that you had gone to town. I was going tofollow you straightway, but the squire wouldn't hear of it. You knowwhat he is. So I had to compromise and spend one night with him. ByJove! it's a bit of luck finding you here. I'm pleased, Doris, jollypleased. I've been worried to death about you--never moved so fast in mylife. "

"Haven't you?" said Doris; she was still smiling a small, tired smile. "But why? I don't see. "

"Don't you?" said Hugh. "How shall I explain? You have got such a rootedimpression of me as a slacker that I am half afraid of taking yourbreath away. "

She laughed again, not very steadily. "Oh, are you turning over a newleaf? I am delighted to hear it. "

He smiled also, his eyes upon hers. "Well, I am, in a way. It's come tome lately that I've been an utter ass all this time. I expect you'vebeen thinking the same, haven't you?"

"No, I don't think so, " said Doris. 

"No? That's nice of you, " said Hugh. "But it's the truth nevertheless. Ihaven't studied the art of expressing myself properly. I can't do iteven yet. But it occurred to me--it just occurred to me--that perhapsI'd never succeeded in making you understand how awfully badly I want tomarry you. I think I never told you so. I always somehow took it forgranted that you knew. But now--especially now, Doris, when you're introuble--I want you more than ever. Even if you can't love me as I loveyou--"

He stopped, for she had flung out her hands with an almost agonizedgesture, and her eyes implored him though she spoke no word. 

"Won't you listen to me just this once--just this once?" he pleaded. "Mydear, I love you so. I love you enough for both if you'll only marryme, and give me the chance of making you happy. "

An unwonted note of feeling sounded in his voice. He stretched out hishand to her. 

"Doris, darling, won't you change your mind? I'm miserable without you. "

And then very suddenly Doris found her voice. She spoke with breathlessentreaty. "Hugh, don't--don't! I can't listen to you. I married JeffIronside this morning. "

His hand fell. He stared at her as if he thought her mad. "You--married--Jeff Ironside! I don't believe it!"

She clenched her hands tightly to still her agitation. "But it's true, "she said. 

"Doris!" he said. 

She nodded vehemently, keeping her eyes on his. "It's true, " she saidagain. 

He straightened himself up with the instinctive movement of a manbracing himself to meet a sudden strain. "But why? How? I didn't evenknow you knew the man. "

She nodded again. "He helped me once when I was out cubbing, and I wentto his house. After that--when he heard that I had nothing to liveon--he came and asked me if I would marry him. And I was very miserablebecause nobody wanted me. So I said 'Yes. '"

Her voice sank. Her lips were quivering. 

"I wanted you, " Hugh said. 

She was silent. 

He bent slowly towards her, looking into her eyes. "My dear, didn't youreally know--didn't you understand?"

She shook her head; her eyes were suddenly full of tears. "No, Hugh. "

He held out his hand again and took hers. "Don't cry, Doris! You haven'tlost much. I shall get over it somehow. I know you never cared for me. "

She bent her head with some murmured words he could not catch. 

He leaned nearer. "What, dear, what? You never did, did you?"

He waited for her answer, and at last through tears it came. "I've beenstruggling so hard, so hard, to keep myself from caring. "

He was silent a moment, and again it was as if he were collecting hisstrength for that which had to be endured. Then slowly: "You thought Iwasn't in earnest?" he said. "You thought I didn't care enough?"

She did not answer him in words; her silence was enough. 

"God forgive me!" whispered Hugh.... 

There came the thud of horses' hoofs upon the grass, and his handrelinquished hers. He turned to see Jeff Ironside barely ten paces away, leading the two animals. Very pale but wholly collected, Hugh moved tomeet him. 

"I have just been hearing about your marriage, Ironside, " he said. "MayI congratulate you?"

Jeff's eyes, with the red sunlight turning them to a ruddy brown, methis with absolute directness as he made brief response. "You are verykind. "

"Doris and I are old friends, " said Hugh. 

"Yes, I know, " said Jeff. 

Spasmodically Doris turned and joined the two men. "We hope Mr. Chesylwill come and see us sometimes, don't we, Jeff?" she said. 

"Certainly, " said Jeff, "when he has nothing better to do. "

She turned to Hugh with a bright little smile. Her tears were whollygone, and he marvelled. "I hope that will be often, Hugh, " she said. 

"Thank you, " Hugh said gravely. "Thank you very much. " He added, after amoment, to Jeff: "I shall probably be down here a good deal now. Thesquire is beginning to feel his age. In fact, he wants me to make myhome with him. I don't propose to do that entirely, but I can't leavehim alone for long at a time. "

"I see, " said Jeff. He glanced towards Doris. "Shall we start back?" hesaid. 

Hugh propped his gun against a tree, and stepped forward to mount her. "So you still have Hector, " he said. 

"Jeff's wedding present, " she answered, still smiling. 

Lightly she mounted, and for a single moment he felt her passing touchupon his shoulder. Then Hector moved away, stepping proudly. Jeff wasalready in the saddle. 

"Good-bye!" said Doris, looking back to him. "Don't forget to come andsee us!"

She was gone. 

Hugh Chesyl turned with the sun-rays dazzling him, and groped for hisgun. 

He found it, shouldered it, and strode away down the woodland path. Hisface as he went was the face of a man suddenly awakened to the stressand the turmoil of life. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE NEW LIFE

There was no doubt about it. Granny Grimshaw was not satisfied. Deeperfurrows were beginning to appear in her already deeply furrowed face. She shook her head very often with pursed lips when she was alone. Andthis despite the fact that she and the young mistress of the Mill Housewere always upon excellent terms. No difficulties ever arose betweenthem. Doris showed not the smallest disposition to usurp the oldhousekeeper's authority. Possibly Granny Grimshaw would have been betterpleased if she had. She spent much of her time out-of-doors, and when inthe house she was generally to be found in the little sitting-room thatJeff had fitted up for her. 

She had her meals in the parlour with Jeff, and these were the soleoccasions on which they were alone together. If Doris could have had herway, Granny Grimshaw would have been present at these also, but on thispoint the old woman showed herself determined, not to say obstinate. Shemaintained that her place was the kitchen, and that her presence wasabsolutely necessary there, a point of view which no argument ofDoris's could persuade her to relinquish. 

So she and Jeff breakfasted, dined, and supped in solitude, and thoughDoris became gradually accustomed to these somewhat silent meals, shenever enjoyed them. Of difficult moments there were actually very few. They mutually avoided any but the most general subjects forconversation. But of intimacy between them there was none. Jeff hadapparently drawn a very distinct boundary-line which he never permittedhimself to cross. He never intruded upon her. He never encroached uponthe friendship she shyly proffered. Once when she somewhat hesitatinglysuggested that he should come to her sitting-room for a little aftersupper he refused, not churlishly, but very decidedly. 

"I like to have my pipe and go to bed, " he said. 

"But you can bring your pipe, too, " she said. 

"No, thanks, " said Jeff. "I always smoke in the kitchen or on the step. "

She said no more, but went up to her room, and presently Jeff, moodilypuffing at his briar in the porch, heard the notes of her pianooverhead. She played softly for some little time, and Jeff's pipe wentout before it was finished--a most rare occurrence with him. 

Only when the piano ceased did he awake to the fact, and thenhalf-savagely he knocked out its half-consumed contents and turnedinwards. 

He found Granny Grimshaw standing in the passage in a listeningattitude, and paused to bid her good-night. 

"Be you going to bed, Master Jeff?" she said. "My dear, did you everhear the like? She plays like an angel. "

He smiled somewhat grimly, without replying. 

The old woman came very close to him. "Master Jeff, why don't you go andmake love to her? Don't you know she's waiting for you?"

"Is she?" said Jeff, but he said it in the tone of one who does notrequire an answer, and with the words very abruptly he passed her by. 

Granny Grimshaw shook her head and sighed, "Ah, dear!" after hisretreating form. 

It was a few days after this that a letter came for Doris, one morning, bearing the Squire's crest. Her husband handed it to her at thebreakfast-table, and she received it with a flush. After a moment, seeing him occupied with a newspaper, she opened it. 

 "Dear Doris, " it said. "You asked me to come and see you, but I have not done so as I was not sure if, after all, you meant me to take the invitation literally. We have been friends for so long that I feel constrained to speak openly. For myself, I only ask to go on being your friend, and to serve you in any way possible. But perhaps I can serve you best by keeping away from you. If so, then I will do even that. --Yours ever, "Hugh. "

Something within moved Doris to raise her eyes suddenly, and instantlyshe encountered Jeff's fixed upon her. The flush in her cheeks deepenedburningly. With an effort she spoke:

"Hugh Chesyl wants to know if he may come to see us. "

"I thought you asked him, " said Jeff. 

A little quiver of resentment went through her; she could not have saidwherefore. "He was not sure if I meant it, " she said. 

There was an instant's silence; then Jeff did an extraordinary thing. Hestretched out his hand across the table, keeping his eyes on hers. 

"Let me have his letter to answer!" he said. 

She made a sharp instinctive movement of withdrawal. "Oh, no!" she said. "No!"

Jeff said nothing; but his face hardened somewhat, and his hand remainedoutstretched. 

Doris's grey eyes gleamed. "No, Jeff!" she repeated, more calmly, andwith the words she slipped Hugh's envelope into the bosom of her dress. "I can't give you my letters to answer indeed. "

Jeff withdrew his hand, and began to eat his breakfast in utter silence. 

Doris played with hers until the silence became intolerable, and then, very suddenly and very winningly, she leaned towards him. 

"Dear Jeff, surely you are not vexed!" she said. 

He looked at her again, and in spite of herself she felt her heartquicken. 

"Are you, Jeff?" she said, and held out her hand to him. 

For a moment he sat motionless, then abruptly he grasped the hand. 

"May I say what I think?" he asked her bluntly. 

"Of course, " she said. 

"Then I think from all points of view that you had better leave Chesylalone, " he said. 

"What do you mean?" Quickly she asked the question; the colour flamed inher face once more. "Tell my why you think that!" she said. 

"I would rather not, " said Jeff. 

"But that is not fair of you, Jeff, " she protested. 

He released her hand slowly. "I am sorry, " he said. "If I were more toyou, I would say more. As it is--well, I would rather not. "

She rose impetuously. "You are very--difficult, " she said. 

To which he made answer with that silence which was to her moredifficult than speech. 

Yet later, when she was alone, her sense of justice made her admit thathe had not been altogether unreasonable. She recalled the fact that hehad overheard that leisurely proposal of marriage that Hugh had made herin the cornfield on the occasion of their first meeting, and her faceburned afresh as she remembered certain other items of that sameconversation that he must also have overheard. No, on the whole it wasnot surprising that he did not greatly care for Hugh--poor Hugh, wholoved her and had so narrowly missed winning her for himself. Shewondered if Hugh were really very miserable. She herself had passedthrough so many stages of misery since her wedding-day. But she hadsufficient knowledge of herself to realize that it was the lonelinessand lack of sympathy that weighed upon her most. 

Her feeling for Hugh was still an undeveloped quantity, though thecertainty of his love for her had quickened it to keener life. She wasnot even yet absolutely certain that he could have satisfied her. It wastrue that he had been deeply stirred for the moment, but how deeply andhow lastingly she had no means of gauging. Knowing the indolence of hisnature, she was inclined to mistrust the permanence of his feeling. Andso resolutely had she restrained her own feeling for him during thewhole length of their acquaintance that she was able still to keep itwithin bounds. She knew that the sympathy between them was fundamentalin character, but she had often suspected--in her calmer moments shesuspected still--that it was of the kind that engenders friendshiprather than passion. 

But even so, his friendship was essentially precious to her, all themore so for the daily loneliness of spirit that she found herselfcompelled to endure. For--with this one exception--she was practicallyfriendless. She had known that in marrying Jeff Ironside she wasrelinquishing her own circle entirely. But she had imagined that therewould be compensations. Moreover, so far as society was concerned, shehad not had any choice. It had been this or exile. And she had chosenthis. 

Wherefore? Simply and solely because Jeff, of all she knew, had wantedher. 

Again that curious little tremor went through her. Had he wanted her sovery badly after all? Not once since their wedding-day had he made anyfriendly overture or responded to any overture of hers. They were ascompletely strangers now as they had been on the day he had proposed toher. 

A sharp little sigh came from her. She had not thought somehow that Jeffwould be so difficult. He had told her that he loved her. She hadcounted on that for the foundation of their friendship, but no structurehad she succeeded in raising thereon. He asked nothing of her, and, savefor material comforts, he bestowed nothing in return. True, it was whatshe had bargained for. But yet it did not satisfy her. She was not ather ease with him, and she began to think she never would be. 

As to Hugh, she hardly knew how to proceed; but she finally wrote him afriendly note, concurring with his suggestion that they should not meetagain for a little while--"only for a little while, Hugh, " she added, almost in spite of herself, "for I can't afford to lose a friend likeyou. "

And she did not guess how the heart-cry of her loneliness echoed throughthe words. 

CHAPTER IX

THE WAY TO BE HAPPY

It was not until the week before Christmas that Doris saw Hugh again. They met in the hunting-field. It was the first hunt she had attendedsince her marriage, and she went to it alone. 

The meet was some distance away, and she arrived after the start, joining the ranks of the riders as they waited outside a copse which thehounds were drawing. 

The day was chill and grey. She did not altogether know why she went, save that the loneliness at the Mill House seemed to become daily harderto bear, and the longing to escape it, if only for a few hours, was notto be denied. 

She was scarcely in a sporting mood, and the sight of old acquaintances, though they greeted her kindly enough, did not tend to raise herspirits. 

The terrible conviction had begun to grow upon her of late that she hadcommitted a great mistake that no effort of hers could ever remedy, andthe thought of it weighed her down perpetually night and day. 

But the sight of Hugh as he came to her along the edge of the wood wasa welcome one. She greeted him almost with eagerness, and the friendlygrasp of his hand sent warmth to her lonely young heart. 

"I am very glad to see you following the hounds, " Hugh said. "Are youalone?"

"Quite alone, " she said, feeling a lump rise in her throat. 

"Then you'll let me take care of you, " he said, with a friendly smile. 

And she could but smile and thank him. 

It was not a particularly satisfactory day from a fox-hunting point ofview. The weather did not improve, and the scent was misleading. Theyfound and lost, found and lost again, and a cold drizzle setting in withthe afternoon effectually cooled the ardour of even the mostenthusiastic. 

Yet Doris enjoyed herself. She and Hugh ate their lunch together undersome dripping trees, and they managed to make merry over it in spite ofthe fact that both were fairly wet through. He made her share the sherryin his flask, laughing down all protests, treating her with the absoluteease that had always characterized their friendship. It was such a dayas Doris had often spent in his company, and the return to the oldgenial atmosphere was like the sweetness of a spring day in the midst ofwinter. 

It was he who at length suggested the advisability of returning home. "I'm sure you ought to get back and change, " he said. "It'll be gettingdark in another hour. "

Her face fell, "I have enjoyed it, " she said regretfully. 

"You'll come again, " said Hugh. "They are meeting at Kendal's Corner onChristmas Eve. I shall look out for you. "

She smiled. "Very well, I'll be there. Thank you for giving me such agood time, Hugh. "

"My dear girl!" said Hugh. 

They rode back together through a driving drizzle, and, as Hugh hadpredicted, the early dusk had fallen before they reached the mill. Theroar of the water sounded indescribably desolate as they drew near, andDoris gave a sharp, involuntary shiver. 

It was then that Hugh drew close to her and stretched out a hand in thegrowing darkness. "Doris!" he said softly. 

She put her own into it swiftly, impulsively. "Oh, Hugh!" she said witha sob. 

"Don't!" said Hugh gently. "Stick to it, dear! I think you won't besorry in the end. I believe he's a good chap. Give him all you can! It'sthe only way to be happy. "

Her fingers tightened convulsively upon his. She spoke no word. 

"Don't, dear!" he said again very earnestly. "It's such a mistake. Honestly, I don't think you've anything to be sorry for. So don't letyourself be faint-hearted! I know he's not a bad sort. "

"He's very good, " whispered Doris. 

"Yes, that's just it, " said Hugh. "So don't be afraid of giving! You'llnever regret it. No one could help loving you, Doris. Remember that, dear, when you're feeling down! You're just the sweetest woman in theworld, and the man who couldn't worship you would be a hopeless fool. "

They were passing over the bridge that spanned the stream. The road wasnarrow, and their horses moved side by side. They went over it withhands locked. 

They were nearing the house when Doris reined in. "Good-bye, dear Hugh!"she said. "You're the truest friend any woman ever had. "

He reined in also. They stood in the deep shadow of some trees close tothe gate that led into the Mill House garden. The roar of the water wasall about them. They seemed to be isolated from all the world. And soHugh Chesyl, being moved beyond his wont, lifted the hand that lay soconfidingly in his, and kissed it with all reverence. 

"I want you to be happy, " he said. 

A moment later they parted without further words on either side, he toretrace his steps across the bridge, she to turn wearily in at the irongate under the dripping trees that led to the Mill House porch. 

She heard a man's step in front of her as she went, and at the porch shefound her husband. 

"Oh, Jeff!" she said, slightly startled. "I didn't know it was you. "

"I've been looking out for you for some time, " he said. "You must bevery wet. "

"Yes, it's rained nearly all day, hasn't it? We didn't have much sport, but I enjoyed it. " Doris slid down into the hands he held up to her. "Why, you are wet too, " she said. "Hadn't you better change?"

"I'll take the horse round first, " he said. "Won't you go in?"

She went in with a feeling of deep depression. Jeff's armour of reserveseemed impenetrable. With lagging feet she climbed the stairs andentered her sitting-room. 

A bright fire was burning there, and the lamp was alight. A littlethrill of purely physical pleasure went through her at the sight. Shepaused to take off her hat, then went forward and stooped to warm herhands at the blaze. 

She was certainly very tired. The arm-chair by the hearth was invitinglynear. She sank into it with a sigh and closed her eyes. 

It must have been ten minutes later that the door, which she had leftajar, was pushed open, and Jeff stood on the threshold. 

He was carrying a steaming cup of milk. A moment he paused as if on theverge of asking admittance; then as his eyes fell upon the slight youngfigure sunk in the chair, he closed his lips and came forward insilence. 

A few seconds later, Doris opened her eyes with a start at the touch ofhis hand on her shoulder. 

She sat up sharply. "Oh, Jeff, how you startled me!"

It was the first time she had ever seen him in her little sitting-room, though she had more than once invited him thither. His presence at thatmoment was for some reason peculiarly disconcerting. 

"I am sorry, " he said, in his slow way. "The door was half open, and Isaw you were asleep. I don't think you are wise to sit down in your wetclothes. I have brought you some milk and brandy. "

"Oh, but I never take brandy, " she said, collecting herself with alittle smile and rising. "It's very kind of you, Jeff. But I can't drinkit, really. It would go straight to my head. "

"You must drink it, " said Jeff. 

He presented it to her with the words, but Doris backed awayhalf-laughing. 

"No, really, Jeff! I'll go and have a hot bath. That will do quite aswell. "

"You must drink this first, " said Jeff. 

There was a dogged note in his voice, and at sound of it Doris's browswent up, and her smile passed. 

"I mean it, " said Jeff, setting cup and saucer on the table before her. "I can't run the risk of having you laid up. Drink it now, before itgets cold!"

A little gleam of mutiny shone in Doris's eyes. "My dear Jeff, " she saidvery decidedly. "I have told you already that I do not drink brandy. Iam going to have a hot bath and change, and after that I will have sometea. But I draw the line at hot grog. So, please, take it away! Give itto Granny Grimshaw! It would do her more good. "

She smiled again suddenly and winningly with the words. After all it wasabsurd to be vexed over such a trifle. 

But, to her amazement, Jeff's face hardened. He stepped to her, and, asif she had been a child, took her by the shoulders, and put her downinto a chair by the table. 

"Doris, " he said, and his voice sounded deep and stern above her head, "I may not get much out of my bargain, but I think I may claim obedienceat least. There is not enough brandy there to hurt you, and I wish youto take it. "

She stiffened at his action, as if she would actively resist; but sheonly became rigid under his hands. 

There followed a tense and painful silence. Then without a word Doristook the cup and raised it unsteadily to her lips. In the same momentJeff took his hands from her shoulders, straightened himself, and insilence left the room. 

CHAPTER X

CHRISTMAS EVE

It was only a small episode, but it made an impression upon Doris thatshe was slow to forget. It was not that she resented the assertion ofauthority. She had the fairness to admit his right, but in a very subtlefashion it hurt her. It made her feel more than ever the hollowness ofthe bargain, to which he had made such grim allusion. It added, moreover, to her uneasiness, making her suspect that he was fully asdissatisfied as she. Yet, in face of the stony front he presented shecould not continue to proffer her friendship. He seemed to have no usefor it. He seemed, in fact, to avoid her, and the old shyness that hadoppressed her in the beginning returned upon her fourfold. She admittedto herself that she was becoming afraid of the man. The very sound ofhis voice made her heart beat thick and hard, and each succeeding daywitnessed a diminishing of her confidence. 

Under these circumstances she withdrew more and more into her solitude, and it was with something like dismay that she received the news fromGranny Grimshaw at the beginning of Christmas week that it was Jeff'scustom to entertain two or three of his farmer friends at supper onChristmas Eve. 

"Only the menkind, my dear, " said Granny Grimshaw consolingly. "Andthey're easy enough to amuse, as all the world knows. Give 'em a goodfeed, and they won't give any trouble. It's quite a job to get ready for'em, that it is, but it's the only bit of entertaining he does all theyear round, so I don't grudge it. "

"You must let me help you, " Doris said. 

And help she did, protest notwithstanding, so that Jeff, returning fromhis work in the middle of the day, was surprised to find her flushed andanimated in the kitchen, clad in one of Granny Grimshaw's aprons, rolling out pastry with the ready deftness of a practised pastry-cook. 

There was no dismay in her greeting of him, and only she knew of thatsudden quickening of the heart that invariably followed his appearance. 

"You didn't tell me about your Christmas party, Jeff, " she said. "Grannyand I are going to give you a big spread. I hope you will invite me tothe feast. "

Jeff's dark face flushed a little as he made reply. "I'm afraid youwouldn't enjoy it much. "

"But you haven't introduced me to any of your friends yet, " sheprotested. "I should like to meet them. "

"I'm not so sure of that, " said Jeff. 

She looked up at him for a moment. "Don't you think that's rather amistake?" she said. 

"Why?" said Jeff. 

With something of an effort she explained. "To take it for granted thatI shall look down on them. I don't want to look down on them, Jeff. "

"It isn't that, " said Jeff curtly. "But they're not your sort. Theydon't talk your language. I'm not sure that I want you to meet them. "

"But you can't keep me away from everyone, can you?" she said gently. 

He did not answer her, and she returned to her pastry-making in silence. 

But evidently her words had made some impression, for that evening whenshe rose from the supper table to bid him a formal good-night, he veryabruptly reverted to the subject. 

"If you really think you can stand the racket on Christmas Eve, I hopeyou will join the party. There will be only four or five besides myself. I have never invited the womenkind. "

"Perhaps by next Christmas I shall have got to know them a little, " saidDoris, "and then we can invite them too. Thank you for asking me, Jeff. I'll come. "

But yet she viewed the prospect with considerable misgiving, and wouldhave thankfully foregone the ordeal, if she had not felt constrained toface it. 

The preparations went forward under Granny Grimshaw's guidance without ahitch, but they were kept busy up to the last moment, and on the daybefore Christmas Eve Doris scribbled a hasty note to Hugh Chesyl, excusing herself from attending the meet. 

It was the only thing to be done, for she could not let him expect herin vain, but she regretted it later when at the breakfast-table thefollowing day her husband silently handed to her Hugh's reply. 

Hugh had written to convey his good wishes for Christmas, and this sheexplained to Jeff; but he received her explanation in utter silence, andshe forthwith abandoned the subject. A smouldering resentment began toburn within her. What right had he to treat Hugh's friendship with heras a thing to be ashamed of? She longed to ask him, but would not riskan open rupture. She knew that if she gave her indignation rein shewould not be able to control it. 

So the matter passed, and she slipped Hugh's note into her bosom with asense of outraged pride that went with her throughout the day. It wasstill present with her like an evil spirit when she went to her room todress. 

She had not much time at her disposal, and she slipped into her blackevening gown with a passing wonder as to how Jeff's friends would beattired. Descending again, she found Jim Dawlish fixing a piece ofmistletoe over the parlour door, and smiled at his occupation. 

He smiled at her in a fashion that sent the blood suddenly and hotly toher face, and she passed on to the kitchen, erect and quivering withanger. 

"Lor', my dearie, what a pretty picture you be, to be sure!" was GrannyGrimshaw's greeting, and again a tremor of misgiving went through thegirl's heart. Had she made herself too pretty for the occasion?

She mustered spirit, however, to laugh at the compliment, and busiedherself with the final arrangements. 

Jeff appeared a few minutes later, clad in black but not in eveningdress. His eyes dwelt upon his wife for a moment or two before headdressed her. 

"Do you mind being in the parlour when they come in?"

She looked up at him with a smile which she knew to be forced. "Are yousure I shan't be one too many, Jeff?"

"Quite, " said Jeff. 

There was no appealing against that, and she accompanied him withoutfurther words. 

Jim Dawlish was standing by the parlour door, admiring his handiwork. Henudged Jeff as he went by, and was rewarded by Jeff's heaviest scowl. 

A minute later, to Doris's mingled relief and dread, came the sounds ofthe first arrival. 

This proved to be a Mr. Griggs and his son, a horsey young man, whom shevaguely knew by sight, having encountered him when following the hounds. Mr. Griggs was a jolly old farmer, with a somewhat convivialcountenance. He shook her warmly by the hand, and asked her how sheliked being married. 

Doris was endeavouring to reply to this difficult question as airily aspossible, when three more of Jeff's friends made their appearance, andwere brought up by Jeff in a group for introduction, thereby relievingher of the obligation. 

The party was now complete, and they all sat down to supper in varyingdegrees of shyness. Doris worked hard to play her part as hostess, butit was certainly no light task. Two of the last-comers were brothers ofthe name of Chubb, and from neither of these could she extract more thanone word at a time. The third, Farmer Locke, was of the aggressive, bulldog type, and he very speedily asserted himself. He seemed, indeed, somewhat inclined to browbeat her, loudly arguing her slightest remarkafter a fashion which she found decidedly exasperating, but presentlydiscovered to be his invariable habit with everyone. He flatlycontradicted even Jeff, but she was pleased to hear Jeff bluntly holdhis own, and secretly admired him for the achievement. 

On the whole, the meal was not quite so much of an ordeal as she hadanticipated, and she was just beginning to congratulate herself uponthis fact when she discovered that young Griggs was ogling her with mostunmistakable familiarity whenever she glanced his way. She at once cuthim pointedly and with supreme disdain, only to find his father, whowas seated on her right, doing exactly the same thing. 

Furious indignation entered her sore soul at this second discovery, andfrom the smiling, genial hostess she froze into a marble statue ofaloofness. But tongues were loosened somewhat by that time, and herchange of attitude did not apparently affect the guests. 

Mr. Locke continued his aggressive course, and the brothers Chubb wereemboldened to take it by turns to oppose him, while old Griggs drankdeeply and smacked his lips, and young Griggs told Jeff anecdotes in anundertone which he interspersed with bold glances in the direction ofhis stony-faced young hostess. 

The appearance of Jim Dawlish carrying a steaming bowl of punch seemedto Doris at length the signal for departure, and she rose from thetable. 

Jeff instantly rose at the farther end, and she divined that he had nowish to detain her. Mr. Griggs the elder, on the other hand, was loud inprotest. 

"We haven't drunk your health yet, missis, " he said. 

She forced herself to smile. "That is very kind of you. I am sure Jeffwill return thanks for me. "

She made it evident that she had no intention of remaining, protestnotwithstanding, so Mr. Griggs arose and turned to open the door, stillloudly deploring her departure. Young Griggs was already there, however. He leered at her as she approached him, and it occurred to herthat he was not very steady on his legs. She prepared him an icy bow, which she was in the very act of executing when he made a sudden lurchforward, and caught her round the waist. She heard him laugh with coarsemirth, and had a glimpse of the bunch of mistletoe dangling above theirheads ere she fiercely pushed him from her into the passage. 

The next instant Jeff was beside her, and she turned and clung to him indesperation. 

"Jeff, don't let him!" she cried. 

Jeff stretched out an arm to keep the young man back. A roar of laughterrose from the remaining guests. 

"Kiss her yourself then, Jeff!" cried old Griggs, hammering on thetable. "You've got her under the mistletoe. "

"He daren't!" said Jim Dawlish, with a wink. 

"Afraid to kiss his own wife!" gibed Locke, and the Chubb brotherslaughed in uproarious appreciation of the sally. 

It was then that Doris became aware of a change in Jeff. The arm he hadstretched out for her protection suddenly encircled her. He bent hisface to hers. 

"They shan't say that!" he muttered under his breath. 

She divined his intention in an instant, and a wild flame of anger shotup within her. This was how he treated her confidence! She made a swifteffort to wrench herself from him, then, feeling his arm tighten tofrustrate her, she struck him across the face in frantic indignation. 

Again a roar of laughter arose behind them, and then very suddenly sheforgot everyone in the world but Jeff, for it was as if at that blow ofhers an evil spirit had taken swift possession of him. He gripped herhands with savage strength, forcing them behind her, and so holding her, with eyes that seared her soul, he kissed her passionately, violently, devouringly, on face and neck and throat, sparing her not a whit, tillin an agony of helpless shame she sank powerless in his arms. 

She heard again the jeering laughter in the room behind her, but betweenherself and Jeff there was a terrible silence, till abruptly he set herfree, saying curtly, "You brought it on yourself. Now go!"

Her knees were shaking under her. She was burning from head to foot, asthough she had been wrapped in flame. But with an effort she controlledherself. 

She went in utter silence, feeling as if her heart were dead within her, mounted the stairs with growing weakness, found and fumbled at her owndoor, entered at last, and sank inert upon the floor. 

CHAPTER XI

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Christmas morning broke with a sprinkle of snow, and an icy wind thatblew from the north, promising a heavier fall ere the day was over. 

Jeff was late in descending, and he saw that the door of Doris's roomwas open as he passed. He glanced in, saw that the room was empty, andentered to lay a packet that he carried on her dressing-table. As he didso, his eyes fell upon an envelope lying there, and that single glancerevealed the fact that it was addressed to him. 

He picked it up, and, turning, cast a searching look around the room. Across the end of the great four-poster bed hung the black lace gown shehad worn the previous evening, but the bed itself was undisturbed. Hesaw in a moment that it had not been slept in. Sharply he turned to theenvelope in his hand, and ripped it open. Something bright rolled outupon the floor. He stopped it with his foot. It was her wedding-ring. 

An awful look showed for a moment in Jeff's eyes and passed. He stoopedand picked up the ring; then, with a species of deadly composure moreterrible than any agitation, he took out the letter that the envelopecontained. 

It was very short--the first letter that she had ever written to him. 

 "Dear Jeff, " it ran, "after what happened last night, I do not think you will be surprised to hear that I feel I cannot stay any longer under your roof. I have tried to be friends with you, but you would not have it so, and now it has become quite impossible for me to go on. I am leaving for town by the first train I can catch. I am going to work for my living, and some day I shall hope to make good to you all that I know you have spent on my comfort. 

 "Please do not imagine I am going in anger. I blame myself more than I blame you. I never ought to have married you, knowing that I did not love you in the ordinary way. But this is the only course open to me now. So good-bye!

 "Doris. "

Jeff Ironside looked up from the letter, and out across the greymeadows. His face was pale, the square jaw absolutely rigid; but therewas no anger in his eyes, only the iron of an implacable determination. For several seconds he watched the feathery snowflakes drifting over thefields; then, with absolute steadiness, he returned both letter and ringto the envelope, placed them in his pocket, and, turning, left the room. 

Granny Grimshaw met him at the foot of the stairs. "Oh, Master Jeff, "she said, "I am that worried. We can't find Mrs. Ironside. "

Jeff paused an instant and turned his grim face to her. "It's all right, Granny. I know where she is, " he said. "Keep the breakfast hot!"

And with that he was gone. 

He drove out of the yard a few minutes later in his dog-cart, muffled ina great coat with the collar up to his ears. 

At the station, Doris sat huddled in a corner of the little waiting-roomcounting the dreary minutes as she waited for her train. No one besideherself was going by it. 

She had walked across the fields, and had made a _détour_ to leave anote at the Manor for Hugh. She could not leave Hugh in ignorance of heraction. 

She glanced nervously at the watch on her wrist. Yes, Jeff probably knewby this time. How was he taking it? Was he very angry? But surely evenhe must see how impossible he had made her life with him. 

Restlessly she arose and went to the window. It had begun to snow inearnest. The road was all blurred and grey with the falling flakes. Sheshivered again. Her feet were like ice. Very oddly her thoughts turnedto that day in September when Jeff had knelt before her and drawn offher muddy boots before the great open fire. A great sigh welled upwithin her and her eyes filled with quick tears. If only he would haveconsented to be her friend. She was so lonely--so lonely!

There came the sound of wheels along the road, and she turned away. Evidently someone else was coming for the train. A little tremor ofimpatience went through her. Would the train never come?

The wheels stopped before the station door. Someone descended, and therefollowed the sound of a man's feet approaching her retreat. A hand waslaid upon the door, and she braced herself to meet a possibleacquaintance. It opened, and she glanced up. 

"Oh, Jeff!" she said. 

He shut the door behind him and came forward. His face was set indogged, unyielding lines. 

"I have come to take you back, " he said. 

She drew sharply away from him. This was the last thing she hadexpected. 

Desperately she faced him. "I can't come with you, Jeff, " she said. "Mymind is quite made up. I am very sorry for everything, especially sorrythat you have taken the trouble to follow me. But my decision is quiteunalterable. "

Her breath came fast as she ended. Her heart was throbbing in thick, heavy strokes. There was something so implacable in his attitude. 

He did not speak at once, and she stood before him, striving with allher strength to still her agitation. Then quite calmly he stood back andmotioned her to pass him. "Whatever you decide to do afterwards, " hesaid, "you must come back with me now. We had better start at oncebefore it gets worse. "

A quiver of anger went through her; it was almost a sensation of hatred. She remained motionless. "I refuse, " she said in a low voice, her greyeyes steadily raised to his. 

She saw his black brows meet, but he gave no sign of impatience. "AndI--insist, " he said stubbornly. 

She felt the blood receding from her face. It was to be open conflict, then. She collected all her resolution to oppose him, for to yield atthat moment was out of the question. 

It was then, while she stood summoning her forces, that there came toher ears the distant hum and throb of an approaching train. It wascoming at last. A porter ran past the window that looked upon theplatform, announcing its approach with a dismal yell. Doris straightenedand turned to go. 

Jeff turned also. An odd light sprang up in his gipsy eyes. He wentstraight to the door ere she could reach it, locked it, and withdrew thekey. 

That fired Doris. Her composure went in a single instant. "Jeff, " sheexclaimed, "how dare you?"

He turned to the dingy window overlooking the line. "You compel me, " hesaid. 

She sank back impotent against the table. He stood staring grimly forth, filling the window with his bulk. 

Nearer came the train and nearer. Doris felt the hot blood drumming inher brain. Something that was very nearly akin to frenzy entered intoher. She stood up with sudden, fierce resolution. 

"Jeff, " she said, "I will not be kept here against my will! Do you hear?I will not! Give me that key!"

He took no more notice of the command than if it had been the buzzing ofa fly. His attention apparently was caught by something outside. Heleaned forward, watching intently. 

Something in his attitude checked her wrath at its height. It was asthough a cold hand had been laid upon her heart. What was it he waslooking at? She felt she must know. As the train thundered into thestation she went to his side and looked forth also. 

The next moment, with a shock that was physical, she saw the object ofhis interest. Hugh Chesyl, with a face of grave perturbation, wasstanding on the platform, searching this way and that. It was evidentthat he had but just arrived at the station, and in a flash she divinedthe reason of his coming. Quite obviously he was looking for her. 

Sharply she withdrew herself from the window, and in the same momentJeff also turned. Their eyes met, and Doris caught her breath. 

For it was as if a sword had pierced her. In a single, blinding instantof revelation she read his thought, and sheer horror held her silentbefore him. She stood as one paralyzed. 

He did not utter a word, simply stood and looked at her, with eyes growndevilish in their scrutiny. Then very suddenly and terribly he laughed, and flung round upon his heel. 

In that instant Doris's powers returned to her, urged by appallingnecessity. She sprang forward, reached the door, set her back againstit, faced him with the wild courage of agonizing fear. 

"Jeff! Jeff!" she panted. "What are you going to do?"

The train had come to a standstill. There was a commotion of voices andrunning feet. Jeff, still with that awful look in his eyes, stood still. 

"You will miss your train, " he said. 

"What are you going to do?" she reiterated. 

He smiled--a grim, dreadful smile. "I am going to see you off. You cango now. Your friend Chesyl can follow by the next train--when I havedone with him. "

He had the key in his hand. He stooped to insert it in the lock. Butswiftly she caught his wrist. "Jeff, stop--stop!" she gasped; and, as helooked at her: "I'm not going away now!"

He wrung his hand free. "You had better go--for your own sake!" he said. 

She flinched in spite of herself from the blazing menace of his eyes, but again necessity spurred her. She stretched out her arms, barring hisway. 

"I won't! I can't! Jeff--Jeff--for Heaven's sake--Jeff!" Her voicebroke into wild entreaty. He had taken her roughly by the shoulders, pulling her from his path. He would have put her from him, but shesnatched her opportunity and clung to him fast with all her quiveringstrength. 

He stood still then, suddenly rigid. "I have warned you!" he said, in avoice so deep with passion that her heart quailed and ceased to beat. 

"Let me go!"

But she only tightened her trembling hold. "You shan't go, Jeff! Youshan't insult Hugh Chesyl! He is a gentleman!"

"Is he?" said Jeff, very bitterly. 

She could feel his every muscle strung and taut, ready for uncontrolledviolence. Yet still with her puny strength she held him, for she darednot let him go. 

"Jeff, listen to me! You must listen! Hugh is my very good friend--nomore than that. He has come here to say 'Good-bye. ' I left a note forhim on my way here, just to tell him I was going. He is my friend--onlymy friend. "

"I don't believe you, " said Jeff. 

She shrank as if he had struck her, but her hands still clutched hiscoat. She attempted no further protestations, only stood with her whiteface lifted and clear eyes fixed on his. The red fire that shonefiercely back on her was powerless to subdue her steady regard, thoughshe felt as though it scorched her through and through. 

From the platform came the shriek of the guard's whistle. The train wasdeparting. 

Doris heard it go with a sick sense of despair. She knew that herliberty went with it. As the last carriage passed she spoke again. 

"I will go back with you now. "

"If I will take you back, " said Jeff. 

Her hands clenched upon his coat. An awful weakness had begun to assailher. She fought against it desperately. 

Someone tried the handle of the door, pulled at it and desisted. Shecaught her breath. Jeff's hand went out to open, but she shifted hergrasp, and again gripped his wrist. 

"Wait! Wait!" she whispered through her white lips. 

This time he did not shake her off. He stood with his eyes on hers andwaited. 

The man on the other side of the door, evidently concluding that thewaiting-room had not been opened that day, gave up the attempt andpassed on. With straining ears Doris listened to his departingfootsteps. A few seconds later she saw Jeff's eyes go to the fartherwindow. Her own followed them. Hugh Chesyl, clad in a long grey ulster, was tramping away through the snow. 

He passed from sight, and Doris relaxed her hold. Her face was white andspent. "Will you take me home?" she said faintly. 

Slowly Jeff's eyes came back to her, dwelt upon her. He must have seenthe exhaustion in her face, but his own showed no softening. 

He spoke at last sternly, with grim mastery. "If I take you back it mustbe on a different footing. You tell me this man is no more to you than afriend. I am even less. Do you think I will be satisfied with that?"

"I have tried to make you my friend, " she said. 

"And you have failed, " he said. "Shall I tell you why? Or can youguess?"

She was silent. 

He clenched his hands hard against his sides. "You know what happenedyesterday, " he said. "It had nearly happened a hundred times before. Ikept it back till it got too strong for me. You dangled your friendshipbefore me till I was nearly mad with the want of you. You had betterhave offered me nothing at all than that. "

"Oh, Jeff!" she said. 

He went on, heedless of reproach. "It has come to this with me:friendship, if it comes at all, must come after. You tell me Chesyl isnot your lover. Do you deny that he has ever made love to you?"

"Since he knew of my marriage--never!" she said. 

"Yet you ride home with him in the dark hand in hand!" said Jeff. 

The colour flamed in her face and as swiftly died. "Hugh Chesyl is notmy lover, " she said proudly. 

"And you expect me to believe you?" he said. 

"I do. "

He gazed at her without pity. "You will secure my belief in you, " hesaid, "only by coming to me as my wife. "

A great shiver went through her. She stood silent. 

"As my wife, " he repeated looking straight into her face with eyes thatcompelled. She was trembling from head to foot. He waited a moment, then: "You would sooner run away with Hugh Chesyl?" he asked verybitterly. 

Sheer pain drove her into speech. "Oh, Jeff, " she cried passionately, "don't make me hate you!"

He started at that as an animal starts at the goad, and in an instant hetook her suddenly and fiercely by the shoulders. "Hate me, then! Hateme!" he said, and kissed her again savagely on her white, panting lipsas he had kissed her the night before, showing no mercy. 

She did not resist him. Her strength was gone. She hung quivering in hisarms till the storm of his passion had passed also. Then: "Let us go!"she whispered: "Let us go!"

He released her slowly and turned to open the door. Then, seeing thatshe moved unsteadily, he put his arm about her, supporting her. So, sideby side and linked together, they went out into the driving snow. 

CHAPTER XII

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

Doris was nearly fainting with cold and misery when they stopped at lastbefore the Mill House door. All the previous night she had sat uplistening with nerves on edge, and had finally taken her departure inthe early morning without food. 

When Jeff turned to help her down she looked at him helplessly, seeinghim through a drifting mist that obscured all besides. He saw herweakness at a single glance, and, mounting the step, took her in hisarms. 

She sank down against his shoulder. "Oh, Jeff, I can't help it, " shewhispered, through lips that were stiff and blue with cold. 

"All right. I know, " he said, and for the first time in many days sheheard a note of kindness in his voice. 

He bore her straight through to the kitchen, and laid her down upon theold oak settle, just as he had done on that day in September when firsthe had brought her to his home. 

Granny Grimshaw, full of tender solicitude, came hastening to her, butJeff intervened. 

"Hot milk and brandy--quick!" he ordered, and fell himself to chafingthe icy fingers. 

When Granny Grimshaw brought the cup, he took it from her, and held itfor Doris to drink; and then, when she had swallowed a little and theblood was creeping back into her face, he took off her boots and chafedher feet also. 

Granny Grimshaw put some bread into the milk while this was in progressand coaxed Doris to finish it. She asked no questions, simply treatingher as she might have treated a lost child who had strayed away. Therewas a vast fund of wisdom in the old grey head that was so often shakenover the follies of youth. 

And, finally, when Doris had a little recovered, she went with her toher room, and helped her to bed, where she tucked her up with her ownhot-water bottle and left her. 

From sheer exhaustion Doris slept, though her sleep was not a happy one. Long, tangled dreams wound in a ceaseless procession through her brain, and through them all she was persistently and fruitlessly striving topersuade Jeff to let her go. 

In the late afternoon she awoke suddenly to the sound of men's voices inthe room below her, and started up in nameless fear. 

"Were you wanting anything, my dearie?" asked Granny Grimshaw, from achair by the fire. 

"Who is that talking?" she asked nervously. 

"It's Master Jeff and a visitor, " said the old woman. "Now, don't youbother your head about them! I'm going along to get you some tea. "

She bustled away with the words, and Doris lay back, listening withevery nerve stretched. Her husband's deep voice was unmistakable, butthe other she could not distinguish. Only after a while there came thesounds of movement, the opening of a door. 

When that happened she sprang swiftly from the bed to her own door, andsoftly opened it. 

Two men stood in the hall below. Slipping out on to the landing, sheleaned upon the banisters in the darkness and looked down. Even as shedid so, a voice she knew well came up out of the gloom--a kindly, well-bred voice that spoke with a slight drawl. 

"I shouldn't be downhearted, Ironside. Remember, no one is cornered solong as he can turn round and go back. It's the only thing to do whenyou know you've taken a wrong turning. "

Doris caught her breath. Her fingers gripped the black oak rail. Shelistened in rigid expectancy for Jeff's answer. But no answer came. 

In a moment Hugh's voice came again, still calm and friendly. "I'm goingaway directly. The Squire has been ordered to the South for the rest ofthe winter, and I've promised to go with him. I suppose we shall startsome time next week. May I look in and say 'Good-bye'?"

There was a pause. The girl on the landing above waited tensely forJeff's answer. It came at last slowly, in a tone that was notunfriendly, but which did not sound spontaneous. "You can do as youlike, Chesyl. I have no objection. "

"All right, then. Good-bye for the present! I hope when I do come Ishall find that all's well. All will be well in the end, eh, Jeff?"

There was a touch of feeling in the question that made Doris aware thatthe speaker had gripped her husband's hand. 

But again there was a pause before the answer came, heavily, it seemedreluctantly: "Yes, it'll be all right for her in the end. Good-bye!"

The front-door opened; they went out into the porch together. And Dorisslipped back, to her room. 

Those last words of her husband's rang strangely in her heart. Why hadhe put it like that?

Her thoughts went to Hugh--dear and faithful friend who had taken thisstep on her behalf. What had passed between him and her husband duringthat interview in the parlour? She longed to know. 

But whatever it had been, Hugh had emerged victorious. He had destroyedthose foul suspicions of Jeff's. He had conquered the man's enmity, overthrown his passionate jealousy, humbled him into admitting himselfto be in the wrong. Very curiously that silent admission of Jeff's hurther pride almost as if it had been made on her behalf. The thought ofJeff worsted by Hugh Chesyl, however deeply in the wrong he might be, was somehow very hard to bear. Her heart ached for the man. She did notwant him to be humbled. 

When Granny Grimshaw came up with her tea, she was half-dressed. 

"I couldn't sleep any longer, " she said. "It's dear of you to take suchcare of me. But I'm quite all right. Dear Granny, forgive me for givingyou such a horrible Christmas Day!" She bent suddenly forward and kissedthe wrinkled face. 

"My dearie! My dearie!" said Granny Grimshaw. 

And then, exactly how it happened neither of them ever knew, all in amoment Doris found herself folded close in the old woman's arms, sobbingher heart out on the motherly shoulder. 

"You shouldn't cry, darling; you shouldn't cry, " murmured GrannyGrimshaw, softly patting the slim young form. "It would hurt Master Jeffmore than anything to have you cry. "

"No, no! He doesn't really care for me. I could bear it better if hedid, " whispered Doris. 

"Not care for you, my dearie? Why, what ever can you be thinking of?"protested Granny Grimshaw. "He's eating his very heart out for you, andI verily believe he'd kill himself sooner than make you unhappy. "

"Ah! You don't understand, " sighed Doris. "He only wants--materialthings. "

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" said Granny Grimshaw. "Did you suppose that theman ever lived who could love a woman without? We're human, dear, thevery best of us, and there's no getting out of it. Besides, love isnever satisfied with half measures. "

She drew the girl down into the chair before the fire and fussed overher tenderly till she grew calmer. And then presently she slipped away. 

Doris finished her tea slowly with her eyes on the red coals, then roseat length to continue her dressing. As she stood at the table twistingup her hair, her glance fell on a small packet that lay there. 

With fingers that trembled a little she opened it. It contained a smallobject wrapped in a slip of paper. There was writing upon it, which shedeciphered as she unrolled it. "For my wife, with all my love. Jeff. "And in her hand there lay a slender gold ring, exquisitely dainty, setwith pearls. A quick tremor went through Doris. She guessed that it hadbelonged to his mother. 

Again she read the few simple words; they seemed to her to hold anappeal which the man himself could never have uttered, and her heartquivered in response as a finely tempered instrument vibrates to asudden sound. Had she never understood him?

She finished her dressing with impulsive haste, and with Jeff's gift inher hand turned to leave the room. 

Her heart throbbed violently as she descended. 

What would his mood be when she found him? If he would only be kind toher! Ah, if only he would be kind! Granny Grimshaw was lighting thelamps in the hall and parlour. 

"Everyone's out but me, " she said. "Master Jeff and I generally keephouse alone together on Christmas night. I don't know why he doesn'tcome in. He went out to see to the horses half an hour ago. He hasn'thad his tea yet. "

"I will give him his tea, " Doris said. 

"Very well, " said Granny Grimshaw. "I'll leave the kettle on for youwhile I go up and dress. "

Doris went into the parlour to wait. The lamp on the table was alight, the teacups ready, and a bright fire made the room cosy. She went to thewindow and drew aside the curtain. 

The snow had ceased, and the sky was clear. Stars were beginning topierce the darkness. 

Slowly the minutes crawled by. She began to listen for his coming, tochafe at his delay. At last, grown nervous with suspense, she turnedfrom the window and went into the hall. She opened the door and steppedout into the porch. 

Still and starlit lay the path before her. The snow had been swept away. Impulse seized her. She felt she could wait no longer. She slipped backinto the hall, took a coat of Jeff's from a peg, put it on, and sopassed out into the open. 

The way to the stable lay past the mill-stream. On noiseless feet shefollowed it. The water was deep and dark and silent. She shivered as shedrew near. In the stable beyond, close to the mill, she saw a light. Itwas moving towards her. In a moment she discovered Jeff's face above it, and--was it something she actually saw in the face, or was it anillusion created by the swinging lantern?--her heart gave a sudden jerkof horror. For it was to her as if she looked upon the face of a deadman. 

She stood still in the shadow of a weeping willow, arrested by thatlook, and watched him come slowly forth. 

He moved heavily as one driven by Fate, pulling the stable door to afterhim. This he turned to lock, then stooped, still with that face as of adeath-mask, and deliberately extinguished his lantern. 

Doris's heart jerked again at the action, and every pulse began toclamour. Why did he put out the lantern before reaching the house?

The next moment she heard his footsteps, slow and heavy, coming towardsher. The path wound along a bank a couple of feet above the mill-stream. He approached till in the darkness he had nearly reached her, then hestopped. 

She thought he had discerned her, but the next moment she realized thathe had not. He was facing the water; he seemed to be staring across it. And even as she watched he took another step straight towards it. 

It was then that like a flashlight leaping from his brain to hers sherealized what he was about to do. How the knowledge came to her sheknew not, but it was hers past all disputing in that single second ofblinding revelation. And just as that morning she had been inspired toact on sheer wild impulse, so now without an instant's pause she actedagain. She sprang from her hiding-place with a strangled cry, and threwher arms about him. 

"Jeff! Jeff! What are you doing here?"

He gave a great start that made her think of a frightened animal, andstood still. She felt his arms grow rigid at his sides, and knew thathis hands were clenched. 

"Jeff!" she cried again, clinging faster. "You--you're never thinkingof--of that?"

Her utterance ended in a shudder as she sought with all her strength todrag him away from the icy water. 

He resisted her doggedly, standing like a rock. "Whatever I'm thinkingof doing is my affair, " he said, shortly and sternly. "Go away and leaveme alone!"

"I won't!" she cried back to him half-hysterically. "I won't! If--ifyou're going to do that, you'll take me with you!"

He turned round then and moved back to the path. "Who said I was goingto do anything?" he demanded in a voice that sounded half-angry andhalf-ashamed. 

She answered him with absolute candour. "I saw your face just now. Icouldn't help knowing. Oh, Jeff, Jeff! is it as bad as that? Do you hate me so badly as that?"

He made a movement of the arms that was curiously passionate, but he didnot attempt to take her into them. "I don't hate you, " he said, in avoice that sounded half-choked. "I love you--so horribly"--there was anote of ferocity in the low-spoken words--"that I can never know anypeace without you! And since with you it is otherwise, what remedy isthere? You love Hugh Chesyl. You only want to be free to marry him. While I--"

He broke off in fierce impotence, and began to thrust her from him. Butshe held him fast. 

"Jeff--Jeff, this is madness! Listen to me! You must listen! Hugh and Iare friends, and we shall never be anything more. Jeff, let me be withyou! Teach me to love you! You can if you will. Don't--don't ruin bothour lives!"

She was pleading with him passionately, still holding him back. And, asshe pleaded, she reached up her arms and slowly clasped his neck. 

"Oh, Jeff, be good to me--be good to me just this once!" she prayed. "I've made such a hideous mistake, but don't punish me like this! Iswear if you go, I shall go too! There'll be nothing left to live for. Jeff--Jeff, if you really love me, spare me this!"

The broken entreaty went into agonized sobbing, yet she kept her faceupraised to his. Instinctively she knew that in that eleventh hour shemust offer all she had. 

Several moments throbbed away. She began to think that she had failed. And then very suddenly he moved, put his arm about her, led her away. 

Not a word did he utter, but there was comfort in the holding of hisarm. She went with him with the curious hushed sense of one who standson the threshold of that which is sacred. 

CHAPTER XIII

A FARMER'S WIFE

Two eyes, old but yet keen, peered forth into the wintry night, and agrey head nodded approvingly, as Jeff Ironside and his wife came insilence to their home. And then the bedroom blind came down, and GrannyGrimshaw sat down cosily by her bit of wood fire to hold a strictlyprivate little service of thanksgiving. 

Downstairs into the raftered kitchen two people came, each holding each, both speechless, with a restraint that bound them as by a spell. 

By nature the woman spoke first, her voice no more than a whisper. "Siton the settle, won't you? I'm going to get your tea. "

His arm fell from her. He sat down heavily, not looking at her. Shestepped to the fire and took the empty teapot from the hob, thenlight-footed to the dresser for the tea. 

He did not watch her. For a while he sat staring blindly straight beforehim. Then slowly he leaned forward, and dropped his head into his hands. 

Not till the tea was made did she so much as glance towards him, sointent to all seeming was she upon her task. But when it was done, shelooked at him sitting there bowed upon the settle, and very suddenly, very lightly, she came to his side. 

"Jeff!" she said. 

He neither moved nor spoke. 

She laid a shy hand on his shoulder. "Jeff!" Her voice was pleading andrather breathless, as though she would ask him to bear with her. "I wantto thank you so much--so very much--for your Christmas gift. See! I'mwearing it. "

She slipped her hand down into his, so that he held it pressed againsthis cheek. He spoke no word, but against her fingers she felt a quiver. 

She bent over him, growing bolder. "Jeff, I--I want you to give meback--my wedding-ring. "

He did not stir or answer. 

"Please!" she whispered. "Won't you?"

And then dumbly, keeping his face hidden, he drew her hand down to hisbreast-pocket. 

"Is it there?" she whispered. "May I take it?"

Her fingers felt for and found what they sought. Her hand came up again, wearing the ring. And then, with a swift, impulsive movement she kneltbefore him, clasping his two wrists. 

"Jeff--Jeff! will you--will you try to forgive me?"

There followed silence, but very strangely no misgiving assailed her. She strove with gentle insistence to draw the shielding hands away. 

At first he resisted her, and then very suddenly he yielded. His handswent out to her, his head dropped forward upon her shoulder. A strangledsob shook him. 

And Doris knelt up with all her woman's compassion leaping to his need, and clasped her warm arms about him, holding him to her heart. 

That broke him, broke him utterly, so that for a while no words couldpass between them. For Doris was crying too, even while she sought tocomfort. 

But at last, with a valiant effort, she checked her tears. "Jeff--darling, don't let us be so--so silly, " she murmured, with onequivering hand laid upon his head. "We've got all we want--both of us. Let's forget it all! Let's begin again!"

He put his arms around her, not lifting his head. 

"Can't we?" she said softly. "I'm ready. "

He spoke at last below his breath. "You couldn't! You'll never forgetwhat a brute I've been. "

She turned her head quickly and laid her cheek against his forehead. "Shall I tell you just how much I am going to remember?"

He was silent, breathing deeply. 

"Just this, " she said. "That you love me--so much--that you can't dowithout me, and that you were willing--to give your life--for myhappiness. That is what I am going to remember, Jeff, and it will be avery precious memory. And I want to tell you just one little thingbefore we go any farther. It's about Hugh. I don't love him in the waythat you and I count love. I did very nearly for a little while. Butthat is over. I don't think--I never have quite thought--that he isaltogether my sort, or I his. Jeff dear, you believe that?"

"Yes, " said Jeff. 

"Thank you, " she said simply. "I want you to try and believe me always, because I do tell the truth. And now, Jeff, I've got to tell you thatI'm dreadfully sorry for the way I've treated you. Yes, let me say it, "as he made a quick movement of protest. "It's true. I've treated youabominably, mainly because I didn't understand. I do understand now. You--you've opened my eyes. Oh, Jeff, thank God they were opened even atthe eleventh hour! What should I have done if--if--" She broke off witha shiver, and then nestled to him like a child, as though that were theend of the argument. "And now I'm going to be such a good wife to you, "she whispered, "to make up for it all. I always wanted to be a farmer'swife, you know. But you must help me. Jeff, will you?"

"I would die for you, " he said, his head still bent as though he couldnot wholly trust himself to look her in the face. 

She gave a funny little tremulous laugh. "Yes, I know. But that wouldn'tbe a bit of good. You would only break my heart. You don't want to dothat, do you?"

"Doris!" he said. 

"Why won't you call me Dot?"

"Dot!" said Jeff very softly. 

"That's better. " Again her voice quivered upon a laugh. Her armsslackened from his shoulders, and instantly his fell away, setting herfree. She rose to her feet, yet lingered a moment, bending slightly overhim, her eyes very bright. 

But Jeff did not move, and with a half-sigh she turned away. "Would youlike to carry the teapot?" she said. 

He got up. 

"And you can hang up this coat of yours, " she added. "I'll come in amoment. "

She watched him go in his slow, strong fashion; then for a few stillseconds she stood quite tense with hands tightly gripped together. Whatpassed within her during those moments only her own heart ever knew, howmuch of longing, how much of regret, how much of earnest, quiveringhope. 

She followed him almost at once as she had promised. 

The parlour door was open. She came to it in her light, impetuous way. She halted on the threshold. 

"Jeff!" she said. "Come here!"

She reached out her hands to him--little, nervous hands full of purpose. She drew him close. She raised her lips to his. The mistletoe dangledabove their heads. 

"Will you kiss me, Jeff?" she whispered. 

He stooped, half-hesitating. 

Her arms stole about his neck. "You needn't--ever--be afraid to kissyour own wife, dear, " she said. "I want your love just in the ordinaryway--the ordinary way. "

He held her to him. "Dot--Dot--forgive me!"

She shook her head with frank, fearless eyes raised to his. "It was abad bargain, Jeff. Forget it!"

"And make another?" he suggested. 

To which she answered with her quick smile. "Love makes no bargains, Jeff. Love just gives--and gives--and gives. "

And as his lips met hers he knew the wondrous truth of what she said. For in that one long kiss she gave him all she had. And love conquered, just in the old, sweet, ordinary way. 

[Footnote 2: Copyright, 1915, by Ethel M. Dell. ]

The Place of Honour

Wherein a woman with a love of freedom, two soldiers in the Indian Army, and a snake-bite are most intimately concerned. 

CHAPTER I

THE BRIDE

"And that is the major's bride? Ah, what a pity!"

The soft, Irish eyes of Mrs. Raleigh, the surgeon's wife, looked acrossthe ball-room with a very real compassion in their grey depths. 

"Pity?" said young Turner, the subaltern, who chanced to be at thatmoment in attendance upon her. "It's worse than that; it's a monstrousshame! She's only nineteen, you know; and he is twenty years older atleast. "

Mrs. Raleigh sighed. 

"You have met her, Phil, " she said. "I am going to get you to introduceme. Let us go across to her. "

Mrs. Raleigh was greatly beloved by all subalterns. Her husband'sbungalow was open to them day and night, and they took full advantageof the fact. 

It was not that there was anything particularly brilliant about thesurgeon's wife, but her ready sympathy made her a general favourite, andher kindness of heart was known to be equal to the severest strain. 

Therefore, among the boys of the regiment she ruled supreme, and theexpression of her lightest wish generally provoked a jealous scramble. 

On the present occasion, however, young Turner did not display anyspecial alacrity to serve her. 

"There's such a crowd round her it's difficult to squeeze in edgeways, "he said. "I shouldn't trouble to go across yet if I were you. "

Mrs. Raleigh laughed a little and laid her hand on his arm. 

"So you don't like hovering on the outskirts, Phil, " she said. 

He frowned, and then as suddenly smiled. 

"I'm not the sort that cares to fool with a married woman, " he declared. "There goes Devereux to swell the throng. I say, let's go and have adrink. "

She laughed again as she rose to accompany him. Phil Turner was severelyhonest in all his ways, and, being a good woman, she liked him for it. 

Nevertheless, though she yielded, her eyes still dwelt upon the girl inbridal white who sat like a queen among her courtiers. The dark headthat was held so regally erect caught and chained the elder woman'sfancy. And the vivid, careless beauty of the face was a thing to bearaway in the heart and dream of in solitude. For the girl was lovely withthat loveliness which even the most grudging must acknowledge. She shonein the crowd that surrounded her like a rare and brilliant flower in agarden of herbs. 

Phil Turner's arm stirred with slight impatience under Mrs. Raleigh'shand, and she turned beside him. 

"There is nothing like a really beautiful English girl in all theworld, " she said, with a smile and another glance in the bride'sdirection. 

Young Turner grunted, and she gave his arm a slight shake. 

"You don't deceive me, " she said. "You admire her as much as I do. Now, be honest. "

He looked at her for a moment moodily. Then----

"Yes, " he said abruptly, "I do admire her. But, as for the major, Ithink he's the biggest fool on this side of the Indian Ocean, and that'ssaying a good deal. "

Mrs. Raleigh shook her head as if she desired to disagree. 

"Time alone will prove, " she said. 

CHAPTER II

EARLY BREEZES

"It's been lovely, " said the bride. She leant back in the open carriage, gazing with wide, charmed eyes into the vivid Indian night. "And I'm nota bit tired, " she added. "Are you?"

The man beside her did not instantly reply. He was a man of mediumheight, dark and lithe and amazingly strong. It was not his habit tospeak much, but what little he said was usually very much to the point. It was his custom to mask his feelings so completely that very few hadthe smallest inkling as to his state of mind. 

He was considered a hard man in his regiment, but he was known to be asplendid soldier, and chiefly for that reason he was respected ratherthan disliked. But the kindest critic could not have called him eitherpopular or attractive. And the news of his marriage in England hadfallen like a thunderbolt upon his Indian acquaintances, for he had longago come to be regarded among them as the last man in the world tocommit such a folly. 

The full extent thereof had not been apparent till his return to hisregiment, accompanied by his bride, and then as one man the whole messhad risen and condemned him in no measured terms, for the bride, withall her entrancing beauty, her vivacity, her charm, was certainly astartling contrast to the man who had wedded her--a contrast so sharp asto be almost painful to the onlookers. 

She herself, however, seemed to be wholly unaware of any incongruity. Perhaps she had not seen enough of the world to feel it, or perhaps shewas wilfully blind to the things she did not desire to see. 

In any case her face, as she lay back in the carriage by her husband'sside, expressed only the most complete contentment. 

"Are you tired, Eustace?" she asked, as he did not hasten to reply toher first question. 

"No, " he answered, "not tired; but glad to be going back. "

"You've been bored, " she said quickly. "What a frightful pity! Why didyou stay so long?"

Again he paused before replying, and she drummed on his knee with herfingers with slight impatience. 

"I had a notion, " he said, in his quiet, unhurried tones, "that my wifewould have considered it rather hard lines to be dragged away whilethere was a single man left to dance with. "

The bride snatched her hand from his knee with a swiftness of actionthat could hardly be mistaken. He might have been speaking in fun, but, even so, it was an ugly jest. More probably he had meant the sting thathis words conveyed, for, owing to a delicate knee-cap that had once beensplintered by a bullet and still at times gave him trouble, Major Tudorwas a non-dancer. Whatever his meaning, the remark came upon her flushedtriumph like the icy chill before the dawn, dispelling dreams. 

"I am sorry, " she said, with all the haste of youth, "that yousacrificed yourself to please me. I hope you will not do so again. Nowthat I am married, I do not need a chaperon. I could quite well returnalone. "

It was childishly spoken, but then she was a child, and the admirationshe had enjoyed throughout the evening had slightly turned her head. Hedid not reply to her speech. Indeed, it was as if he had not heard it. And her indignation mounted. There was not another man of heracquaintance who would have treated her with a like lack of courtesy. Did he think, because he was her husband, that she belonged to him socompletely that he could behave to her exactly as he saw fit? Perhaps. She did not know him very well; nor apparently did he know her. Forduring the brief six weeks of their married life she had been a littleshy, a little constrained, in his presence. But her success had, as itwere, unshackled her. Without hesitation she gave her feelings the rein. 

"Do you consider that I am not to be trusted?" she asked him sharply. 

"I beg your pardon?"

There was a note of surprised interrogation in his voice. She did notlook at him, but she knew that his eyebrows were raised, and afaint--quite a faint--sense of misgiving stole over her. 

"I asked if you thought me untrustworthy, " she asked. 

"Oh!"

He relapsed into silence again, and she became exasperated. 

"Why don't you answer me?" she said, with quick impatience. 

He turned his head deliberately and looked at her; and again she tingledwith an apprehension which no previous word or action of his had everjustified. 

"Unprofitable questions, " he said coolly, "like ill-timed jests, arebetter left alone. "

It was the first intentional snub he had ever administered to her, andshe quivered under it, furious but impotent. All the evening's enjoymenthad gone out of her. She was conscious only of a desire to strike backand wound him as he had wounded her. 

She did not utter another word during the drive, and when they reachedtheir bungalow--the daintiest and most luxurious in the station--shealighted without touching the hand he offered her. 

Refreshments awaited them in the dining-room, and the bride swept inand helped herself, suffering her cloak to fall from her shoulders. Hepicked it up and threw it over a chair. His dark face was quite composedand inscrutable. He was not a handsome man, but there was somethingundeniably striking about him, a strength of personality that made himsomehow formidable. The red and gold uniform he wore served to emphasisethe breadth of shoulder, which his height did not justify. He was asplendid wrestler. There was not a man in the mess whom he could notthrow. 

Yet to those who knew him best, his strength seemed to lie less in whathe did than in what he left undone. His restraint was the secret of hispower. 

Perhaps his young wife felt this, for notwithstanding her utmost effortshe knew herself to be at a disadvantage. She set down her glass ofsherbet unfinished and turned to the door. It was an abrupt move, but hewas ready for it. Before she reached it, he was waiting with the handlein his grasp. 

"Going to bed, Audrey?" he asked gravely, "Good-night!"

His manner did not betray that he was aware of her displeasure, yetsomehow she was quite convinced that he knew. She paused for a second, and then, with her head held high, she was about to pass him without ananswering word or glance. But to her amazement he stopped her, his handupon her arm. 

"Good-night!" he said again. 

She faced him then in a blaze of passion, with white cheeks and flamingeyes. But as she met his look her heart gave a sudden thump of fright, and in a second her resistance had crumbled away. He did not speakanother word, but his look compelled. Undeniably he was master. 

Mutely she raised her face for his kiss, and he kissed her. 

"Sleep well, " he said. 

And she went from him, subdued and humbled, to her room. 

CHAPTER III

AMID THE RUINS

"Do let us get away somewhere and enjoy ourselves!"

Audrey spoke in a quick undertone to the man nearest to her. It wasthree weeks since her arrival at the Frontier station, and she hadsettled down to the life with the ease of a born Anglo-Indian. Her firstvivid enjoyment of its gaieties was a thing of the past, but no onesuspected the fact, her husband least of all. She had not, as a matterof fact, been much with him during those three weeks, for she had struckup a warm friendship with Mrs. Raleigh, and in common with all theyounger spirits of the regiment she availed herself fully of theprivileges of the latter's hospitality. 

On the present occasion, however--that of a picnic by moonlight at thecrumbling shrine of some long-forgotten holy man--Mrs. Raleigh wasabsent, and Audrey was bored. She had arrived in her husband'sralli-car, which he had driven himself, but she had speedily driftedaway from his side. 

There was an element of perversity in her which made her resent thefeeling that he only accompanied her into society to watch over her, and, if necessary, to keep her in order. It was not a particularlyworthy feeling, but certainly there was something about his attitudethat fostered it. 

She guessed, and rightly, that, but for her, he would not have troubledhimself to attend these social gatherings, which he obviously enjoyed solittle. So when, having deliberately and with mischievous intent givenhim the slip, she awoke suddenly to the fact that he had followed andwas standing near her, Audrey became childishly exasperated and seizedthe first means of escape that offered. 

The man she addressed was one of the least enthusiastic of her admirers, but this did not trouble her at all. She had been a spoilt child all herlife, and she was accustomed to make use of others without stopping toascertain their inclinations. 

Phil Turner, however, was by no means unwilling to be made use of inthis way. The boy was a gentleman, and was as chivalrous at heart as hewas honest. 

He turned at once in response to her quick whisper and offered her hisarm. 

"There's an old well at the back of the ruin, " he said. "Come and seeit. Mind the stones. "

"That was splendid of you, " she said approvingly, as they moved awaytogether. "Are you always so prompt? But I know you're not. I shouldn'thave asked you, only I took you for Mr. Devereux. You are very like himat the back. "

"Never heard that before!" he responded bluntly. "Don't believe it, either, if you will forgive my saying so. "

She laughed, a merry, ringing laugh. 

"Oh, don't you like Mr. Devereux?"

"Yes, he's all right. " Phil seldom spoke a disparaging word of any ofhis comrades. "But I haven't the smallest wish to be like him, " headded. 

Audrey laughed at him again, freely, musically. She found this youngofficer rather more entertaining than the rest. 

They reached the other side of the shrine. Here, in a _débris_ of stonesand weeds, there appeared the circular mouth of an old well, forgottenlike the shrine and long disused. 

Audrey examined the edge with a fastidious air, and finally sat down onit. The place was flooded with moonlight. 

"I wish I were a man, " she said suddenly. 

"Good Heavens! Why?"

He asked the question in amazement. 

"I should like to be your equal, " she told him gaily. "I should like todo and say to you just exactly what I liked. "

Phil considered this seriously. 

"You can do both without being my equal, " he remarked at length in hisbluntest tone, "that is, if you care to condescend. "

"Goodness!" laughed Audrey. "That's the only pretty thing I have everheard you say. I am sure it must be your first attempt. Now, isn't it?"

He laughed. 

"And it wasn't strictly honest, " proceeded Audrey daringly. "You knowyou don't think that of any woman under the sun. "

He did not contradict her. He had a feeling that she was fooling him, but somehow he rather liked it. 

"What about the women under the moon?" he said. "Perhaps they aredifferent?"

She nodded merrily. 

"Perhaps they are, " she conceded. "Certainly the men are. Now, you areabout the stodgiest person I know by daylight or lamplightexcept--except--" She stopped. "No, I don't mean that!" she said, withan impish smile. "There is no exception. "

Phil was frowning a little, but he looked relieved at her amendment. 

"Thank you!" he said brusquely. "I shall never dare to come near youafter that. "

"Except by moonlight?" she suggested, with the impudent audacity of achild. 

What reply he would have made to that piece of nonsense he sometimeswondered afterward, but circumstances prevented his making any. Thewords had only just passed her lips when she sprang to her feet with awild shriek of horror, shaking her arm with frantic violence. 

"A snake!" she cried. "Take it away! Take it away! It's on my wrist!"

Phil Turner, though young, was accustomed to keep his wits about him, and, luckily for the girl, her agony did not scare them away. He hadseized her arm in a fierce grip almost before her frenzied appeal wasuttered. A small snake was coiled round her wrist, and he tore it awaywith his free hand, not caring how he grasped it. He tried to fling thething from him, but somehow his hold upon it was not sufficient. Beforehe knew it the creature had shot up his sleeve. 

The next instant he had shaken it down again with a muffled curse andwas trampling it savagely and vindictively into the stones at his feet. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked, wheeling sharply. 

"No, " gasped Audrey, "no! But you--"

"Yes, the little beast's bitten me, " he returned. "You see--"

"Oh, where, where?" she cried. "Let me see! Quick, quick! Something mustbe done. Can't you suck it?"

He pushed up his sleeve. 

"No; can't get at it, " he said. "It's just below the elbow. Never mind;it isn't serious!"

He would have tweaked his sleeve down again, though he was pale underhis sunburn. But Audrey stopped him, holding his bare arm between herhands. 

"Don't be a fool!" she gasped vehemently. "If you can't, I can--and Iwill!"

Before he could stop her she had stooped, still holding him fast, andput her lips to the tiny puncture in his flesh, on which scarcely morethan a speck of blood was visible. 

Phil stiffened and stood still, every nerve rigid, as if something hadtransfixed him. At last, hurriedly, jerkily, he spoke:

"Mrs. Tudor--for Heaven's sake! I can't let you do this. It wasn'tpoisonous, ten to one. Don't! I say, Audrey--please don't!"

His voice was imploring, but she paid no heed. Her lips continued todraw at the wound, while he, half-distracted, bent over her, protesting, scarcely conscious of what he said, yet submitting in spite of himself. 

There came the sound of running feet, and he guessed that her scream hadgiven the alarm. He stood up with mingled agitation and relief, and aninstant later was face to face with her husband. 

"I--couldn't help it!" he stammered. "It was a snake-bite. "

People were crowding round them with questions and exclamations. ButTudor gave utterance to neither. He only put his hand on his wife'sshoulder and spoke to her. 

"That will do, Audrey, " he said. "There's a doctor here. Leave it tohim. "

At his words Audrey straightened herself, quivering all over; and then, unnerved by sheer horror, she put out her hands with an unconsciousgroping gesture, and fainted. 

CHAPTER IV

AN UNCONVENTIONAL CALL

Audrey had been an only girl at home, and had run wild all her lifeamongst a host of brothers. She had seen next to nothing of the worldprevious to her marriage, consequently her knowledge of its ways wasextremely slender. 

That she had grown up headstrong and extremely unconventional wasscarcely to be wondered at. 

It had been entirely by her own choice that she had married EustaceTudor. She had just awakened to the fact that the family nest, like thefamily purse, was of exceedingly narrow dimensions; and a passion forexploring both mentally and physically was hers. 

They had met only a couple of months before he was due to sail forIndia, and his proposal to her had been necessarily somewhatprecipitate. She had admired him wholeheartedly for he was a soldier ofno mean repute, and the glamour of marriage had done the rest. She hadmarried him and had, for nearly six weeks, thereafter, been supremelyhappy. True, he had not made much love to her; it was not apparentlyhis way, but he had been full of kindness and consideration. And Audreyhad been content. 

But, arrived in that Indian Frontier station where all the world wasgay, she had become at once the centre of attraction, of admiration;and, responding to this with girlish zest, she had begun to findsomething lacking in her husband's treatment. 

It dawned upon her that, where others worshipped with open devotion, hedid not so much as bend the knee. And, over and above this seriousdefect, he was critical of her actions and inclined to keep her inorder. 

This made her reckless at first, even defiant; but she found he couldmaster her defiance, and that frightened her. It made her uncertain asto how far it was safe to resist him. And, being afraid of him, sheshrank a little from too close or intimate a companionship with him. 

She told herself that she valued her liberty too highly to part lightlywith it; but the reason in her heart was not this, and with all herwilfulness, her childish self-sufficiency, she knew that it was not. 

On the morning that followed the moonlight picnic she deliberatelyfeigned sleep when he rose, lest he should think fit to prohibit herearly ride. She had not slept well after her fright; but she had aproject in her mind, and she fully meant to carry it out. 

She lay chafing till his horse's hoof-beats told her that he wasleaving the house behind him; then she, too, rose and ordered her ownhorse. 

Phil Turner, haggard and depressed after a night of considerable pain, was sitting up in bed with his arm in a sling, drinking tea, when afellow-subaltern, who with two others shared the bungalow with him, entered, half-dressed and dishevelled, with the astounding news thatMrs. Tudor was waiting in the compound to know how he was. 

Phil shot upright in amazement. 

"Good Heavens, man! She herself?" he ejaculated. 

His brother officer nodded, grinning. 

"What's to be done? Send out word that you're still alive though not toochirpy, and would she like anything to drink on the veranda? I can't go, you know; I'm not dressed. "

"Don't be an ass! Clear out and send me my bearer. "

Phil spoke with decision. Since Mrs. Tudor had elected to do thisextraordinary thing, it was not for him to refuse to follow her lead. Hewas too far in her debt, even had he desired to do so. 

His bearer, therefore, was dispatched with a courteous message, and whenPhil entered the veranda a quarter of an hour later he found herawaiting him there. 

"This is awfully kind of you, " he said, as he grasped her outstretchedhand. "I was horribly put out about you! You are none the worse?"

"Not a mite, " she assured him. "And you? Your arm?"

He made a face. 

"Raleigh was with me half the night, watching for dangerous symptoms;but they didn't develop. He cauterized my arm as a precaution--a beastlybusiness. He hasn't been round again yet, but I believe it's better. Yes, it was a poisonous bite. It would have been the death of me in allprobability, but for you. He told me so. I--I'm awfully obliged to you!"

He coloured deeply as he made his clumsy acknowledgments. He did notfind it an easy task. As for Audrey, she put out her hands swiftly tostop him. 

"Ah, don't!" she said. "You did a far greater thing for me. " Sheshuddered and put the matter from her. "I'm sure you ought not to beup, " she went on. "I shouldn't have waited, only I thought you mightfeel hurt if I went away after you had sent out word that you would seeme. I think I'll go now. Good-bye!"

There came the jingle of spurs on the veranda, and both started. Thecolour rose in a great wave to the girl's face as she saw who it was, but she turned at once to meet the newcomer. 

"Oh, Eustace, " she said, "so you are back already from theparade-ground!"

He did not show any surprise at finding her there. 

"Yes; just returned, " he said, with no more than a quiet glance at herflushed face. 

"How are you, Phil? Had any sleep?"

"Not much, " Phil owned, with unmistakable embarrassment. "But Raleighsays I'm not going to die this time. It was good of you--and Mrs. Tudor--to look in. Won't you have something? That lazy beast Traversisn't dressed yet!"

"Oh, yes, he is!" said Travers, appearing at that moment. "I'll punchyour head for you, my boy, when we're alone! Hullo, Major! Come to seethe interesting invalid? You'll have some breakfast, won't you? Mrs. Tudor will pour out tea for us. "

But Tudor declined their hospitality briefly but decidedly, and Audreywas obliged to support him. 

Travers assisted her to mount, expressing his regret the while; and whenthey were gone he turned round to his comrade with a grin. 

"The major seems to be in a genial mood this morning, " he remarked. "Hadthey arranged to meet here?"

But Phil turned back into the bungalow with a heavy frown. 

"The major's a bungling fool!" he said bitterly. 

CHAPTER V

THE BARRIER

Tudor was very quiet and preoccupied during breakfast, but Audrey wouldnot notice it; and when at length she rose from the table she laid herfingers for a second on his shoulder in a passing caress. 

He turned instantly and took her hand. 

"Just a moment, Audrey!" he said gravely. 

She stopped unwillingly, her hand fidgeting ineffectually to be free. 

He rose, still holding it in a quiet, strong grasp. He was frowningslightly. 

"I only want to say, " he said, "that what you did this morning wassomewhat unusual, though you may not have been aware of it. Please don'tdo it again!"

Her cheeks flamed, and she met his eyes defiantly. She left her hand inhis rather than prove her weakness, but quite suddenly she was tremblingall over. It was a moment for asserting her freedom of action, and shefully meant to do so; but she was none the less afraid. 

"I was aware of it, " she said, speaking very quickly before his lookcould disconcert her. "But then what I did last night was unusual, too. Also what Phil Turner did for me. You--you don't seem to realise that hesaved my life!"

"I think you discharged your debt, " Tudor returned, with a certaindryness that struck her unpleasantly. 

"What else could I have done?" she demanded stormily. "If you had beenin my place--"

He stopped her. 

"I was not discussing that, " he said. "I have not blamed you for that. Under the circumstances, you did the best thing possible. But I can'tsay the same of your conduct this morning; and since you knew that whatyou did was highly unconventional, I blame you for it. I hope you willbe more careful in the future. "

Audrey was chafing openly before he ended. 

"You treat me like a child, " she broke in, the instant he paused. "Youdon't give me credit for any judgment or discretion of my own. "

He raised his eyebrows. 

"That is hardly remarkable, " he said. 

She snatched her hand from him at last, too exasperated for the momentto care what she did or how she did it. 

"It is remarkable, " she declared, her voice quivering with wrath. "It--it's intolerable. And there's something else that struck me asremarkable, too, and that is that you didn't think it worth while evento thank Phil for--for saving my life last night. I think you mighthave expressed a little gratitude, even--even if you didn't feel it. "

The bitter words were uttered before she realised their full bitterness. But the moment she had spoken them she knew, for his face told her. 

A dead silence followed her outburst, and while it lasted she wascasting about wildly for some means of escape other than headlongflight. Then, as if he read her impulse in her eyes, he moved at lastand turned aside. 

She did not hear his sigh as she made her escape, or even then she mighthave scaled the barrier that divided them, and found beyond it a betterthing than the freedom she prized so highly. 

CHAPTER VI

MRS. TUDOR'S CONFESSION

"Come in and sit down, Mrs. Tudor. Mrs. Raleigh isn't at home. But shecan't be long now. I have been waiting nearly half an hour. "

Phil Turner hoisted himself out of the easiest chair in the Raleighs'drawing-room as he uttered the words, and advanced with a friendly smileto greet the newcomer. 

"Oh, isn't she in?" said Audrey. "I am afraid I took her for granted atthe door. "

"We all do, " he assured her. "It is what she likes best. Do you know, Ihaven't seen you for nearly a fortnight? I called, you know, twice; butyou were out. "

Audrey laughed inconsequently. 

"Why don't you treat me as you treat Mrs. Raleigh?" she said. "Come inand wait, next time. "

Phil smiled as he handed her to the chair he had just vacated. 

"The major isn't so kind to subalterns, " he said. "He would certainlythink, if he didn't say it, that it was like my cheek. "

Audrey frowned over this. 

"I don't see what he has to do with it, " she declared finally. "But itdoesn't signify. How is your arm?"

"Practically convalescent, thanks! There's nothing like first aid, youknow. I say, Mrs. Tudor, you weren't any the worse? It didn't hurt you?"

He looked down at her with anxiety in his frank eyes, and Audrey wasconscious suddenly that he was no longer a mere casual acquaintance. Perhaps she had been vaguely aware of it before, but the actualrealisation of it had not been in her mind till that moment. 

She laughed lightly. 

"Of course not, " she said. "How could it? Don't be so ridiculous, Phil. "

His face cleared. 

"That's right, " he said heartily. "Don't mind me. But I couldn't helpwondering. And I thought it was so decent of you to come round and lookme up on that first morning. "

Audrey's smile faded. 

"I am glad you thought it was decent, anyhow, " she said, with a touch ofbitterness. "No one else did. "

"Oh, rot, Mrs. Tudor!"

Phil spoke hastily. He was frowning, as his custom was when embarrassed. 

She looked up at him and nodded emphatically. 

"Yes, it was--just that, " she said, an odd little note of passion inher voice. "I never thought of these things before, but it seems thathere no one thinks of anything else. "

"Don't take any notice of it, " said Phil. "It isn't worth it. "

"I can't help myself, " said Audrey. "You see--I'm married!"

"So is Mrs. Raleigh. " Phil spoke with sudden heat. "But she doesn'tcare. "

"No, I know. But her husband is such an old dear. Everything she does isright in his eyes. "

It was skating on thin ice, and Phil at least realised it. He made anabrupt effort to pull up. 

"Yes, I'm awfully fond of Major Raleigh, " he said. "By the way, he's animmense admirer of yours. Your promptitude the other night quite won hisheart. He complimented your husband upon it. "

"Did he? What did Eustace say?"

There was more than curiosity in Audrey's voice. 

"I don't know. "

Phil's eyes suddenly avoided hers. He spoke in a dogged, half-surlytone. 

Audrey sat and looked at him for a moment. Then lightly she rose andstood before him. 

"Tell me, please!" she said imperiously. 

He made a sharp gesture of remonstrance. 

"Sorry, " he said, after a moment, as she waited inexorably. "I can't!"

"Oh, but you can!" she returned. "You're not to say you won't to me. "

He looked down at her. 

"I am sorry!" he said less brusquely. "But it can't be done. It isn'tworth a tussle, I assure you, nor is it worth the possible annoyance itmight cause you if you had your way. Look here, can't we talk ofsomething else?"

She laid her hand impulsively on his arm. 

"Tell me, Phil!" she said. 

He drew back abruptly. 

"You put me in a beastly position, Mrs. Tudor, " he said. "I haterepeating things. It isn't fair to corner me like this. "

"Don't be absurd!" said Audrey. Her face was flushed and determined. Shewas bent upon having her own way in this, at least. "I shall begin tohate you in a minute. "

But Phil could be determined, too. 

"Can't help it, " he said; but there was genuine regret in his voice. "You'll have to, I'm afraid. "

He was scarcely prepared for the effect of his words. She flung awayfrom him in tempestuous anger and turned as if to leave the room. Butbefore she reached the door some other impulse apparently overtook her. She stopped abruptly with her back to Phil, and stood for what seemed tohim interminable seconds, fumbling with her handkerchief. 

Then, before he had fully realised the approaching catastrophe, herself-control suddenly deserted her. She sank into a chair with her handsover her face and began to cry. 

Now, Phil was young, and no woman had ever thus abandoned herself totears in his presence before. The sight sent a sharp shock through himthat was almost like a dart of physical pain. It paralysed him for aninstant; but the next he strode forward, convention flung to the winds, desirous only to comfort. He reached her and bent over her, one handupon her shaking shoulder. 

"I say, Mrs. Tudor, don't--don't!" he urged. "What is the matter? You'renot crying because I wouldn't do as you asked me? You couldn't care allthat for such a trifle?"

His voice was husky with agitation. He felt guiltily that it was all hisfault, and he could have kicked himself for his clumsiness. 

She did not answer him, nor did her sobs grow less. It was the pent-upmisery of weeks to which she was giving vent, and, having yielded, itwas no easy matter to check herself again. 

Phil became desperate and knelt down by her side, almost as distressedas she. 

"I say, " he pleaded--"I say, Audrey, don't cry! Tell me what is wrong. Let me help you. Give me a chance, anyhow. I--I'd do anything in theworld, you know. Only tell me. "

He drew one of her hands away from her face and held it between his own. She did not resist him. Her need of a comforter just then was verygreat. Her head was bowed almost against his shoulder and it did notoccur to either of them that they were transgressing the mostelementary laws of conventionality. 

"You can't help me, " she sobbed at last. "No one can. I'm just lonelyand miserable and homesick. I hate this place and everyone in itexcept--except you--and a few others. I wish I were back in England. Iwish I'd never left it. I wish--I wish--I'd never married. "

Her voice came muffled and piteous. It was the cry of a desolate child. And all the deep chivalry in Phil's soul quivered and thrilled inresponse. Before he knew it, tender, consoling words had sprung to hislips. 

"Don't cry, dear; don't cry!" he said. "You'll feel better about itpresently. We all go through it, and it's beastly, I know, I know. Butit won't last. Nothing does in this chancy world. So what's the good offretting?"

She could not tell him. Her trouble was too immense at that moment tobear discussion. But he comforted her. She liked the feel of his handupon her shoulder; the firm, friendly grasp of his fingers about herown. 

"I sometimes think I can't go on, " she whispered through her tears. "It's like being in prison, and I want to run away. Only I can't--Ican't. I've got to bear it all my life. "

A slight sound from the open window followed this confidence, and Phillooked up sharply. Audrey had not heard it, and she did not notice hismovement. 

Her head was still bent; and over it Phil, glaring like a tiger, metthe quiet, critical eyes of the girl's husband. 

He rose to his feet the next instant, but he did not utter a word. 

As for Tudor, he stood quite motionless, quite inscrutable, for thespace of seconds, looking gravely in upon them. Then, to Phil'sunspeakable amazement, he turned deliberately and walked away. There wasthick matting on Mrs. Raleigh's veranda, and his receding footsteps madeno sound. 

CHAPTER VII

AN UNPLEASANT INTERVIEW

"There!" said Audrey, a few seconds later, "I've been a perfect idiot, Iknow; but I'm better now. Tell me, do I look as if I had been crying?"

She raised her pretty, woebegone face to his and smiled very faintly. 

There was something unmistakably grim about Phil at that moment, and shewondered why. 

"Of course you do, " he said bluntly. 

Audrey got up and peered at herself uneasily in a mirror. 

"It doesn't show much, " she said, after a careful inspection. "And, anyhow"--turning round to him--"I don't know what you have to be crossabout. It--it was all your fault!"

Phil groaned and held his peace. She would know soon enough, hereflected. 

Audrey drew nearer to him. 

"Tell me what he said to Major Raleigh, Phil, " she said rathertremulously. 

He shrugged his shoulders and yielded. 

"He only said that he wished your discretion equalled your promptitudein emergencies, " he said. 

"Oh, " said Audrey. "Was that all? Well, I think you might have told mebefore. "

Phil laughed grudgingly. The situation was abominable, but her utterchildishness palliated it. How was Tudor going to treat the matter? hewondered. What if he--

A sudden thought flashed across Phil's brain, and his face grew set. Ofcourse it had been his fault, since she said so. It remained thereforefor him to extricate her, if he could. He turned to her. 

"Look here, Mrs. Tudor, " he said, in a judicious, elder-brotherly tone, "I think it's a mistake, don't you know, to let yourself get depressedover--well, little things. I know what it is to feel down on your luck. But luck turns, you know, and--and--he's a good sort--a bit stiff anddifficult to get on with, but still--a good sort. You won't think merude if I leave you now? I didn't expect Mrs. Raleigh to be so long, andI'm afraid I can't wait any longer. I've got to dress for mess. "

"Goodness!" said Audrey, with a glance at the clock. "Does it take youtwo hours? No, don't scowl! I'm only joking, so you needn't be cross. Good-bye, then! Thank you for being kind to me. "

Her hand lay in his for a moment. She was smiling at him rather sadly, notwithstanding her half-bantering words. 

Phil paused a second. 

"I'm confoundedly sorry!" he said impulsively. "Don't cry any more. "

She shook her head and withdrew her hand. 

"Who says I've been crying?" she said lightly. "Go away, and don't besilly!"

He took her at her word and departed. 

At the gate of the compound he met Mrs. Raleigh, but he refused to turnback with her. 

"I really must go; I've got an engagement, " he said. "But Mrs. Tudor iswaiting for you. Keep her as long as you can. I believe she's a bitdown--homesick, you know. " And he hurried away, breaking into a run assoon as he reached the road. 

He went straight to the Tudor's bungalow without giving himself time toflinch from the interview that he had made up his mind he must have. 

The major _sahib_ was in, the _khitmutgar_ told him and Phil scribbledan urgent message on his card and sent it to him. Two minutes later hewas shown into his superior officer's presence, and he realised that hestood committed to the gravest task he had ever undertaken. 

Major Tudor was sitting unoccupied before the writing-table in hissmoking-room, but he rose as Phil entered. His face was composed asusual. 

"Well, Mr. Turner?" he said, as Phil came heavily forward. 

Phil, more nervous than he had ever been before, halted in front ofhim. 

"I came to speak to you, sir, " he said with an effort, "to--toexplain--"

Tudor was standing with his back to the light. He made no attempt tohelp him out of his difficulties. 

Phil came to an abrupt pause; then, as if some inner force had suddenlycome to his assistance, he straightened himself and tackled the matterafresh. 

"I came to tell you, sir, " he said, meeting Tudor's eyes squarely, "thatI have nothing to be ashamed of. In case"--he paused momentarily--"youshould misunderstand what you saw half an hour ago, I thought it betterto speak at once. "

"Very prudent, " said Tudor. "But--it is quite unnecessary. I do notmisunderstand. "

He spoke deliberately and coldly. But Phil clenched his hands. The wordscut him like a whip. 

"You refuse to believe me?" he said. 

Tudor did not answer. 

"I must trouble you for an answer, " Phil said, forcing himself to speakquietly. 

"As you please, " said Tudor, in the same cold tone. "I have a questionto put first. Had I not chanced to see what took place, would you havesought this interview?"

The blood rose in a hot wave to Phil's head, but he did not wince orhesitate. 

"Of course I shouldn't, " he said. 

Tudor made a curt gesture as of dismissal. 

"Out of your own mouth--" he said, and turned contemptuously away. 

Phil stood quite still for the space of ten seconds, then the youngblood in him suddenly mounted to fever pitch. He strode up to his major, and seized him fiercely by the shoulder. 

"I won't bear this from any man, " he said between his teeth. "I am ashonourable as you are! If you say--or insinuate--otherwise, I--byHeaven--I'll kill you!"

The passionate words ceased, and there followed a silence more terriblethan any speech. Tudor stood absolutely motionless, facing the youngsubaltern who towered over him, without a sign of either anger ordismay. 

Then at last, very slowly and quietly, he spoke:

"You have made a mistake. Take your hand away. "

Phil's hand dropped to his side. He was white to the lips. Yet he wouldnot relinquish his purpose at a word. 

"It hasn't been for my own sake, " he said, his voice still shaking withthe anger he could not subdue. 

Tudor made no response. He stood with his eyes fixed steadily uponPhil's agitated face. And, as if compelled by that searching gaze, Philreiterated the assertion. 

"If I had only had myself to consider, " he said, "I shouldn'thave--stooped--to offer an explanation. "

"Let me remind you, " Tudor said quietly, "that I have not asked forone. "

"You prefer to misunderstand?" said Phil quickly. 

"I prefer to take my own view, " amended Tudor. "If you are wise--youwill be satisfied to leave it so. "

It was final, and, though far from satisfied, Phil felt the futility offurther discussion. He turned to the door. 

"Very well, sir, " he said briefly, and went out, holding his head high. 

As for Tudor, he sat down again before his writing-table with an unmovedcountenance, and after a short interval took up his correspondence. There was no anger in his eyes. 

CHAPTER VIII

AT THE DANCE

Audrey saw no more of Phil Turner for some days. She did not enjoy muchof her husband's society, either. He appeared to be too busy to think ofher, and she in consequence spent most of her time with Mrs. Raleigh. But Phil, who had been one of the latter's most constant visitors, didnot show himself there. 

It did not occur to Audrey that he absented himself on her account, andshe was disappointed not to meet him. Next perhaps to the surgeon'swife, she had begun to regard him as her greatest friend. Certainly thetie of obligation that bound them together was one that seemed towarrant an intimate friendship. Moreover, Phil had been exceptionallykind to her in distress, kinder far than Eustace had ever been. 

She was growing away from her husband very rapidly, and she knew it, mourned over it even in softer moments; but she felt powerless to remedythe evil. It seemed so obvious to her that he did not care. 

So she spent more and more of her hours away from the bungalow that hadbeen made so dainty for her presence, and Eustace never seemed to noticethat she was absent from his side. 

He accompanied her always when she went out in the evening, but he nolonger intruded his guardianship upon her, and deep in her inmost heartthis thing hurt his young wife as nothing had ever hurt her before. Shehad her own way in all matters, but it gave her no pleasure; and thefeeling that, though he might not approve of what she did, he wouldnever remonstrate, grew and festered within her till she sometimesmarvelled that he did not read her misery in her eyes. 

She met Phil Turner again at length at a regimental dance. As usual hercard was quickly filled, but she reserved a waltz for him, and after awhile he came across and asked her for one. 

"You were very nearly too late, " she told him. "Why didn't you comebefore?"

He looked awkward for a moment. Then--

"I was busy, " he said rather shortly. "I'm one of the stewards. "

He scrawled his initials across her card and left her again. Audreyconcluded in her girlish way that something had made him cross, anddismissed him from her mind. 

When at length he came to claim her she was hot and tired and suggestedsitting out. 

He frowned at the idea, but, upon Audrey waxing imperious, he yielded. They sat out together, but not in the cool dark of the veranda as shehad anticipated, but in the full glare of the ballroom amidst all thehubbub of the dancers. 

Audrey was annoyed, and showed it. 

"I am sure we might find a seat on the veranda, " she said. 

But Phil was obstinate. 

"I assure you, Mrs. Tudor, " he said, "I looked in there just now, andevery seat was occupied. "

"I don't believe you are telling the truth, " she returned. 

He raised his eyebrows. 

"Thank you!" he said briefly. 

Something in the curt reply caught her attention, and she gave him aquick glance. He was looking remarkably handsome in his red and golduniform with the scarlet cummerbund across his shirt. Vexed as she waswith him, Audrey could not help admitting it to herself. His brown, resolute face attracted her irresistibly. 

She allowed a considerable pause to ensue before she went to theinevitable attack. Somehow, notwithstanding his surliness, she had notthe faintest desire to quarrel with him. 

"You're very grumpy to-night, " she remarked at length in her cheeryyoung voice. "What's the matter?"

He started and looked intensely uncomfortable. 

"Nothing--of course!" he said. 

"Why of course? I wonder. With me it's the other way round. I am nevercross without a reason. "

Audrey was still cheery. 

He smiled faintly. 

"I congratulate you, " he said. 

Audrey smiled also. Fully exposed as was their position, there was noone near enough to overhear. 

"Well, don't be cross any more, Phil, " she said persuasively. "Cheer up, and come to tiffin with me to-morrow. Will you? I shall be quite alone. "

Phil's smile departed instantly. He glanced at her for a second, andthen fixed his eyes steadily upon the ground between his feet. 

"You're awfully good!" he said at last. "But--thanks very much--Ican't. "

"Can't?" echoed Audrey, with genuine disappointment. "Oh, I'm surethat's nonsense! Why can't you? You're not on duty?"

"No, " he said, speaking slowly, "I'm not on duty; but--fact is, I'mgoing up to the Hills shooting for a few days and--I shall be busy, packing guns and things. Besides--"

"Oh, do stop!" she broke in, with sudden impatience. "I know you areonly making up as you go along. It's very horrid of you, besides beingcontemptible. Why can't you say at once that you are not coming becauseyou don't want to come?"

Her quick pride had taken fire at sound of his deliberate excuse; and, as was its wont upon provocation, her anger flamed high at a moment'snotice. 

Phil did not look at her. His expression was decidedly uneasy, butthere was a certain grimness about him that did not seem to indicate theprobability of any excessive show of docility in face of a browbeating. 

"I don't say it, " he said doggedly at length, "because, besides beingrude, it wouldn't be strictly true. "

"I shouldn't have thought you would have had any scruples of that sort, "rejoined Audrey, hitting her hardest because he had managed to hurt her. "They haven't been very apparent to-night. "

Phil made no protest, but he was frowning heavily. 

She leant slightly towards him, speaking behind her fan. 

"Be honest just for a second, " she said, "if you can, and tell me; areyou tired of calling yourself a friend of mine? Are you trying to getout of it? Because, if you are, it's quite the easiest thing in theworld to do so. But once done--"

She paused. Phil was looking at her at last, and there was something inhis eyes that startled her. A sudden pity rushed over her heart. Shefelt as she had felt once long ago in England when a dog--an old friendof hers--had been injured. He had looked at her with just such eyes asthose that were fixed upon her now. Their dumb pleading had been almostmore than she could bear. 

Involuntarily she laid her hand on his arm, music and dancers allforgotten in that moment of swift emotion. 

"Phil, " she whispered tremulously, "what is it? What is it?"

He did not answer her by a single word. He simply rose to his feet, asif by her action she had suggested it, and whirled her in among thedancers. 

He kept her going to the very last chord, she too full of wonder anduncertainty to protest; and then he led her straight through the room towhere Mrs. Raleigh stood, surrounded by the usual crowd of subalterns, muttered an excuse, and left her there. 

CHAPTER IX

DREADFUL NEWS

It was nearly a week later that Audrey, riding home alone in a rickshawfrom a polo-match, was overtaken by young Gerald Devereux, a subaltern, who was tearing along on foot as if on some urgent errand. Recognisingher, he reduced his speed and dropped into a jog-trot by her side. 

"You haven't heard, of course?" he jerked out breathlessly. "Beastly badnews! Those hill tribes--always up to some devilry! Poor oldPhil--infernal luck!"

"What?" exclaimed Audrey. "What has happened to him? Tell me, quick, quick!"

She turned as white as paper, and Devereux cursed himself for a clumsyfool. 

"It may not be the worst, " he gasped back. "Dash it! I'm so winded! Wehope, you know, we hope--but it's usually a knife and good-bye withthese ruffians. Still, there's a chance--just a chance. "

"But you haven't told me what has happened yet, " cried Audrey, in afever of impatience. 

He answered her, still running by her side "The Waris have got him;rushed his camp at night and bagged everything. The coolies were in theknow, no doubt. Only his _shikari_ got away. He has just come in woundedwith the news. I'm on my way to tell the Chief, though I don't see whatgood he can do. "

"You mean you think he is murdered?" gasped Audrey, through white lips. 

He nodded. 

"Afraid so, poor beggar! Well, so long, Mrs. Tudor! We must hope for thebest as long as we can. "

He put his hand to his cap, and ran on, while Audrey, with a set, whiteface, was borne to her bungalow. 

Her husband was sitting on the veranda. He rose as she alighted and gaveher his hand up the short flight of steps to his side. 

"You are rather late, " he said in his grave way. "I am afraid you willhave to hurry. "

They were dining out that night, but Audrey had forgotten it. She staredat him as if dazed. 

"What is it?" he asked. "Nothing wrong?"

She gasped hysterically. 

"Oh, Eustace, an awful thing--an awful thing!" she cried. "Mr. Devereuxhas just told me--"

Her voice broke, and her lips formed soundless words. She groped vaguelyfor support with one hand. 

Tudor put his arm round her and led her, tottering, indoors. 

"All right; tell me presently, " he said quietly. "Sit down and keepstill for a little. "

He put her into an arm-chair and left her there. In a few seconds hereturned with some brandy and water, which he held to her lips insilence. Then, setting down the glass, he began to rub her nervelesshands. 

Audrey submitted passively at first to his ministrations, but presentlyas her strength returned she sat up. 

"You haven't heard?" she asked him shakily. 

"I have heard nothing, " he answered. "Can you tell me now?"

"Yes--yes!" She paused a moment to steady her voice. Then--"It's Phil!"she faltered. "He has been taken prisoner--murdered perhaps--by thosedreadful hill men! Oh Eustace"--lifting her face appealingly--"do youthink they would kill him? Do you? Do you?"

But Tudor said nothing. He made no attempt to comfort her, and sheturned from him in bitter disappointment. His lack of sympathy at such amoment was almost more than she could bear. 

"How did Devereux know?" he asked, after a pause. 

She shook her head. 

"He said something about a _shikari_. He was going to tell the colonel;but he didn't think it would be any use. He said--he said--"

She broke off, quivering with agitation. Her husband took the glassfrom the table again and made her drink a little. She tried to refuse, but he insisted. 

"You have had a shock. It will do you good, " he said, in his level, unmoved voice. 

And Audrey yielded to the mastery she had scarcely felt of late. 

The spirit helped to steady her, and at length she rose. 

"I am going to my room, Eustace, " she said, not looking at him. "I--can't go out to-night. Perhaps you will make my excuses. "

He did not answer her, and she threw him a swift glance. He was standingstiff and upright. His face was stern and composed; it might have been astone mask. 

"What excuse am I to make?" he asked. 

Her eyes widened. The question was utterly unexpected. 

"Why, the truth--of course, " she said. "Say that I have been upset bythe news, that--that--I hadn't the heart--I couldn't--Eustace, "--appealingsuddenly, a tremor of indignation in her voice--"you don't seem to realisethat he is one of my greatest friends. Don't you understand?"

"Yes, " he said--"yes, I understand!"

And she marvelled at the coldness--the deadly, concentrated coldness--ofhis voice. 

"All the same, " he went on, "I think you must make an effort toaccompany me to the Bentleys' to-night. It might be thought unusual ifI went alone. "

She stared at him in sudden, amazed anger. 

"Eustace!" she exclaimed. "How can you be so cruel, so cold-blooded, so--so heartless? How can you expect such a thing of me--to sit at tableand hear them all talking about it, and his chances discussed? Icouldn't--I couldn't!"

He did not press the point. Perhaps he realised that her nerves in theirpresent condition would prove wholly unequal to such a strain. 

"Very well, " he said quietly at length. "I will send a note to excuse usboth. "

"I don't see why you should stay at home, " Audrey said, turning to thedoor. "I would far rather be alone. "

He did not explain his motive, and she went out of his presence with asensation of relief. She had never fully realised before how wide thegulf between them had become. 

She remained shut up in her room all the evening, eating nothing, faceto face with the horror of young Devereux's brief words. It was thefirst time within her memory that death had approached her shelteredlife, and she was shocked and frightened, as a child is frightened bythe terrors of the dark. 

Very late that night she crept into bed, dismissing her _ayah_, and laythere shivering and forlorn, thinking, thinking, of the cruel faces andflashing knives that Phil had awaked to see. She dozed at last in hermisery, only to wake again with a shriek of nightmare terror, and startup sobbing hysterically. 

"Why, Audrey!" a quiet voice said, and she woke fully, to find herhusband standing by her bed. 

She turned to him impulsively, hiding her face against him, clinging tohim with straining arms. She could not utter a word, for an anguish ofweeping overtook her. And he was silent also, bending over her, his handupon her head. 

Gradually the paroxysm passed and she grew quieter; but she still clungclosely to him, and at length with difficulty she began to speak. 

"Oh, Eustace, it's all so horrible! I can't help seeing it. I'm surehe's dead, or, if he isn't, it's almost worse. And I was so--unkind tohim the last time we were together. I thought he was cross, but I knownow he was only miserable; and I never dreamt I was never going to seehim again, or I wouldn't have been so--so horrid!"

Haltingly, pathetically, the poor little confession was gasped outthrough quivering sobs and the face of the man who listened was nolonger a stony mask; it was alight and tender with a compassion toogreat for utterance. 

He bent a little lower over her, pressing her head closer to his heart;and she heard its beating, slow and strong and regular, through all theturmoil of her distress. 

"Poor child!" he said. "Poor child!"

It was all the comfort he had to offer, but it was more to her than anyother words he had ever spoken. It voiced a sympathy which till thatmoment had been wholly lacking--a sympathy that she desired more thananything else on earth. 

"Don't go away, Eustace!" she begged presently. "It--it's so dreadfulall alone. "

"Try to sleep, dear, " he said gently. 

"Yes, but I dream, I dream, " she whispered piteously. 

He laid her very tenderly back on the pillow, and sat down beside her. 

"You won't dream while I am here, " he said. 

She clasped his hand closely in both her own and begged him tremulouslyto kiss her. By the dim light of her night-lamp she could scarcely seehis face; but as her lips met his a great peace stole over her. She feltas if he had stretched out his hands to her across the great, dividinggulf that had opened between them and drawn her to his side. 

About a quarter of an hour later Eustace Tudor rose noiselessly andstood looking down at his young wife's sleeping face. It was placid asan infant's, and her breathing was soft and regular. He knew that, undisturbed, she would sleep so for hours. 

And so he did not dare to kiss her. He only bowed his head till his lipstouched the coverlet beneath which she lay; and then stealthily, silently, he crept away. 

CHAPTER X

A CHANGE OF PRISONERS

Heavens, how the night crawled! Phil Turner, bound hand and foot, andcruelly cramped in every limb, hitched himself to a sitting posture andbegan to calculate how long he probably had to live. 

There was no moon, but the starlight entered his prison--it was no morethan a mud hut, but had it been built of stone walls many feet thick hischance would scarcely have been lessened. It was merely a question oftime, he knew, and he marvelled that his fate had been delayed so long. 

To use his comrade's descriptive language, he had expected "a knife andgood-bye" full twenty hours before. But neither had been his portion. Hehad been made a prisoner before he was fully awake, and hustled away tothe native fort before sunrise. He had been given _chupatties_ to eatand spring water to drink, and, though painfully stiff from his bonds, he was unwounded. 

It had been a daring capture, he reflected; but what were they keepinghim for? Not for the sake of hospitality--of that he was grimlycertain. There had been no pretence at any friendly feeling on the partof his captors. They had glared hatred at him from the outset, and Philwas firmly convinced, without any undue pessimism, that they had not thesmallest intention of sparing his life. 

But why they postponed the final deed was a problem, that he foundhimself quite unable to solve. It had worried him perpetually for twentyhours, and, combined with the misery of his bonds, made sleep animpossibility. 

Sleep! The very thought of it was horrible to him. It had never struckhim before as a criminal waste of the precious hours of life, for Philwas young, and he had not done with mortal existence. There were in itdeeps he had not sounded, heights he had never scaled. He was notprepared to forego these at the will of a parcel of murderous ruffianswho chanced to object to the white man's rule. He had friends, too--friends he could not afford to lose--friends who could not affordto lose him. 

Doubtless his murder would be avenged in due course; but--He grimacedwrily to himself in the darkness, and tried once more to ease hiscramped limbs. 

From outside came the murmur of voices. He could just see the shoulderof one of his guards at the entrance and the steel glint of arifle-barrel. He gazed at the latter hungrily. Oh, for just a sportingchance--to be free even in the midst of his enemies with that in hishand!

A shadow fell across the entrance, and he saw the rifle no more. He sawthe two Wari sentinels salaaming profoundly, and he began to wonder whothe newcomer might be--a personage of some importance apparently. 

There followed an interval of some minutes, during which Phil began tochafe with feverish impatience. Then at last the shadow becamesubstance, moving into his line of vision, and a man, wrapped in a long, native garment and wearing a _chuddah_ that concealed the greater partof his face, glided into the hut on noiseless, sandalled feet. 

He held a naked knife in his hand, and Phil's heart began to thudunpleasantly. It taxed all a man's self-control to face death in coldblood, trussed hand and foot and helpless as an infant. But he grippedhimself hard, and faced the weapon without flinching. It would not do tolet these murderous ruffians see a white man afraid. 

"Hullo!" he said contemptuously. "Come to put the finishing touch, Isuppose? You'll hang for it, you infernal, treacherous brute; but that'sa detail you border thieves don't seem to mind. "

It eased the tension to hurl verbal defiance at his murderer, and therewas just the chance that the fellow might understand a little English. But when his visitor stooped over him and deliberately cut his bonds, hewas astounded into silence. 

He waited dumfounded, and a muscular hand gripped his shoulder, holdinghim motionless. 

"You'll be all right, " a quiet voice said, "if you don't make aconfounded fool of yourself. "

Phil gave a great start, and the hand that gripped him tightened. Through the gloom he made out the outline of a grim, bearded face. 

"Control yourself!" the quiet voice ordered. "Do you think I've donethis for nothing? We are alone--it may be for five minutes, it may befor less. Get out of your things--sharp, and let me have them. "

"Great Jupiter--Tudor!" gasped Phil. 

"Yes--Tudor!" came the curt response. "Don't stop to jaw. Do as I tellyou. "

He took his hand from Phil's shoulder and stood up, backing into theshadows. 

Phil stood up, too, straightening himself with an effort. The suddennessof this thing had thrown him momentarily off his balance. 

"Quick!" commanded Tudor in a fierce whisper. "Take off your clothes. There isn't a second to lose. "

But Phil stood uncertain. 

"What's the game, Major?" he asked. 

Tudor's hand gripped him again and violently. 

"You fool!" he whispered savagely. "Don't stand gaping there! Can't yousee it's a matter of life and death? Do you want to be killed?"

"No, but--"

Phil broke off. Tudor in that frame of mind was a stranger to him, buthe was none the less one who must be obeyed. Mechanically almost heyielded to the man's insistence and began to strip off his clothes. 

Tudor helped him with an energy that neither fumed nor faltered. Muteobedience was all he required. But when he dropped the garment he worefrom his own shoulders, Phil paused to protest. 

"I am not going to wear that!" he said. "What about you?"

"I can look after myself, " Tudor answered curtly. "Get into it--quick!There is no time for arguing. You're going to wear these, too. "

He pulled the ragged, black beard from his face and the _chuddah_ fromhis head. 

But Phil's eyes were opened, and he resisted. 

"Heavens above, sir!" he said. "Do you think I'm going to do a thinglike that?"

"You must!" Tudor answered. 

He spoke quietly, but there was deadly determination behind hisquietude. They faced one another in the gloom, and suddenly there ranbetween them a passion of feeling that blazed unseen like the hiddencurrent in an electric wire. 

For a few seconds it burnt fiercely, silently; then Tudor laid a firmhand on the younger man's shoulder. 

"You must, " he said again. "The choice does not rest with you. It ismade already. It only remains for you to yield--whatever it may costyou--as I am doing. "

Phil started as if he had struck him. 

"You are wrong, sir, " he exclaimed. "On my oath, you are wrong. Youdon't understand. You never have understood. I--I--"

Tudor silenced him summarily with a hand upon his lips. 

"I know, I know!" he said. "There is no time for this. Leave it and go. If it is any comfort to you to know it, I think no evil of you. Irealise that what has happened had to happen, was in a sense inevitable, and I blame myself alone. Listen to me. This disguise will take youthrough all right if you keep your mouth shut. You are a priest, remember, preaching the Jehad, only I've done all the preachingnecessary. You have simply to walk straight through them, down the hilltill you come to the pass, and then along the river-bed till you strikethe road to the Frontier. It's six miles away, but you will do it beforesunrise. No, don't speak! I haven't finished yet. You are going to dothis not for your own sake or for mine. You think you are going torefuse, but you are not. As for me, your going or staying could make nodifference. I have come with a certain object in view, but I shallremain, whether I gain that object or not. That I swear to you mostsolemnly. "

He turned away with the words and began to loosen his sandals. Philwatched him dumbly. He was face to face with a difficulty of suchmonstrous proportions that he was utterly nonplussed. From the distancecame the sound of voices. 

"You had better go, " observed Tudor, in steady tones. "The guards arecoming back. It will hasten matters for both of us if we are discoveredlike this. "

"Sir!" Phil burst out suddenly. "I--can't!"

Tudor wheeled swiftly. It was almost as if he had been waiting for thatdesperate appeal. He caught up the native garment and flung it overPhil's shoulders. He dragged the beard down over his face and securedthe _chuddah_ about his head. He did it all with incredible rapidity anda strength that would not be gainsaid. 

Then, holding Phil fast in a merciless, irresistible grasp, he spoke:

"If you attempt to disobey me now, I'll kill myself with my own hands. "

There was no mistaking the resolution of his voice, and it wrought theend of the battle--an end inevitable. Phil realised it and accepted itwith a groan. He did not utter another word of protest. He wasconquered, humiliated, powerless. Only when at last he was ready todepart he stood up and faced Tudor, as he had faced him on the day thatthe latter had refused to give him a hearing. 

"I've given in to you, " he said; "but it's to save your life, ifpossible, and for no other reason. You can think what you like of me, but not--of her! Because, before Heaven, I believe this will break herheart. "

He would have said more, but Tudor cut him short. 

"Go!" he said. "Go! I know what I am doing--better than you think!"

And Phil turned in silence and went out into the world-wide starlight. 

CHAPTER XI

THE AWAKENING

The sun was already high when Audrey awoke. She started up, refreshed inbody and mind. Her first thought was of her husband. No doubt he hadgone out long before. He always rose early, even when off duty. 

Then she remembered Phil, and her face contracted as all the trouble ofthe night before rushed back upon her. Was he still living? shewondered. 

She stretched out her hand to ring for her _ayah_. But as she did so hereyes fell upon a table by her side and she caught sight of an envelopelying there. She picked it up. 

It was addressed to herself in her husband's handwriting, and, with asharp sense of anxiety, she tore it open. The note it contained wascharacteristically brief:

 I hope by the time you read this to have procured young Turner's release, if he still lives--at no very great cost, I beg you to believe. I desire the letter that you will find on my writing-table to be sent at once to the colonel. There is also a note for Mrs. Raleigh which I want you to deliver yourself. God bless you, Audrey. 

 E. T. 

Audrey looked up from the letter with startled eyes and white cheeks. What did it mean? What had he been doing in the night while she slept?How was it possible for him to have saved Phil?

Trembling, she sprang from her bed and began to dress. Possibly the noteto Mrs. Raleigh might explain the mystery. She would ride round with itat once. 

She went into Tudor's room before starting and found the letter for thecolonel. It was addressed and sealed. She gave it to a _syce_ withorders to deliver it into the colonel's own hands without delay. 

Then, still quivering with an apprehension she would not own, shemounted and rode away to the surgeon's bungalow. 

Mrs. Raleigh received her with some surprise. 

"Ah, come in!" she said kindly. "I'm delighted to see you, dear; but, sure, you are riding very late. And is there anything the matter?"

"Yes, " gasped Audrey breathlessly. "I mean no, I hope not. My husbandhas--has gone to try to save Phil Turner; and--and he left a note foryou, which I was to deliver. He went away in the night, but he--ofcourse he'll--be back--soon!"

Her voice faltered and died away. There was a look on Mrs. Raleigh'sface, hidden as it were behind her smile, that struck terror to Audrey'sheart. She thrust out the letter in an anguish of unconcealed suspense. 

"Read it! Read it!" she implored, "and tell me what hashappened--quickly, for I--I don't understand!"

Mrs. Raleigh took the letter, passing a supporting arm around the girl'squivering form. 

"Sit down, dear!" she said tenderly. 

Audrey obeyed, but her face was still raised in voiceless supplicationas Mrs. Raleigh opened the letter. The pause that followed was terribleto her. She endured it in wrung silence, her hands fast grippedtogether. 

Then Mrs. Raleigh turned, and in her eyes was a deep compassion, amotherly tenderness of pity, that was to Audrey the confirmation of herworst fears. 

She did not speak again. Her heart felt constricted, paralysed. But Mrs. Raleigh saw the entreaty which her whole body expressed, and, stooping, she took the rigid hands into hers. 

My dear, " she said, "he has gone into the Hills in disguise, up to thenative fort beyond Wara, as that is where he expects to find Phil. Heaven help him and bring them both back!"

Audrey stared at her with a stunned expression. Her lips were quitewhite, and Mrs. Raleigh thought she was going to faint. 

But Audrey did not lose consciousness. She sat there as if turned tostone, trying to speak and failing to make any sound. At last, convulsively, words came. 

"They will take him for a spy, " she said, both hands pressed to herthroat as if something there hurt her intolerably. "TheWaris--torture--spies!"

"My darling, my darling, we must hope--hope and pray!" said theIrishwoman, holding her closely. 

Audrey turned suddenly, passionately, in the enfolding arms and clung toher as if in physical agony. 

"You may, you may, " she said in a dreadful whisper, "but I can't--for Idon't believe. Do you in your heart believe he will ever come back?"

Mrs. Raleigh did not answer. 

Audrey went on, still holding her tightly:

"Do you think I don't know why he wrote to you? It was to put me in yourcare, because--because he knew he was never coming back. And shallI--shall I tell you why he went?"

"Darling, hush--hush!" pleaded Mrs. Raleigh, her voice unsteady withemotion. "There, don't say any more! Put your head on my shoulder, love. Let me hold you so. "

But Audrey's convulsive hold did not relax. She had been a child all herlife up to that moment, but, like a worn-out garment, her childhood hadslipped from her, and she had emerged a woman. The old, happy ignorancewas gone for ever, and the revelation that had dispelled it was almostmore than she could bear. Her newly developed womanhood suffered aswomanhood alone can suffer. 

And yet, could she have drawn the veil once more before her eyes and sohave deadened that agonising pain, she would not have done so. 

She was awake now. The long, long sleep with its gay dreams, itscareless illusions, was over. But it was better to be awake, better tosee and know things as they were, even if the anguish thereof killedher. And so she refused the hushing comfort that only a child--such achild as she had been but yesterday--could have found satisfying. 

"Yes, I can tell you--now--why he went, " she said, in that tense whisperwhich so wrung Mrs. Raleigh's heart. "He went--for my sake! Think of it!Think of it! He went because I was fretting about Phil. He wentbecause--because he thought--- that Phil's safety--meant--my happiness, and that _his_ safety--his--his precious life--didn't--count!"

The awful words sank into breathless silence. Mrs. Raleigh was cryingsilently. She was powerless to cope with this. But Audrey shed no tears. It was beyond tears and beyond mourning--this terrible revelation thathad come to her. By-andby, it might be, both would come to her, if shelived. 

She rose suddenly at length with a sharp gasp, as of one seeking air. 

"I am going, " she said, in a clear, strong voice, "to the colonel. Hewill help me to save my husband. "

And with that she turned to the veranda, and met the commanding-officerface to face. There was another man behind him, but she did not look athim. She instantly, without a second's pause, addressed the colonel. 

"I was coming to you, " she said through her white lips. "You will helpme. You must help me. My husband is a prisoner, and I am going into theHills to find him. You must follow with men and guns. He must besaved--whatever it costs. "

The colonel laid his hand on her shoulder, looking down at her veryearnestly, very kindly. 

"My dear Mrs. Tudor, " he said, "all that can be done shall be done, allthat is humanly possible. I have already told Turner so. Did you knowthat he was safe?"

He drew her forward a step, and she saw that the man behind him was PhilTurner himself--Phil Turner, grave, strong, resolute, with all hismanhood strung up to the moment's emergency, all his boyhood submergedin a responsibility that overwhelmed the lesser part of him, leavingonly that which was great. 

He went straight up to Audrey and took the hands she stretched out tohim. Neither of them felt the presence of onlookers. 

"He saved my life, Mrs. Tudor!" he said simply. "He forced me to take itat his hands. But I'm going back with some men to find him. You stayhere with Mrs. Raleigh till we come back. We shall be quicker alone. "

A great sob burst from Audrey. It was as if the few gallant words hadloosened the awful constriction at her heart. 

"Oh, Phil, Phil!" she cried brokenly. "You understand--what this is tome--how I love him--how I love him! Bring him back to me! Promise, Phil, promise!"

And Phil bent till his lips touched the hands he held. 

"I will do it, " he said with reverence--"so help me, God!"

CHAPTER XII

A WOMAN'S AGONY

All through the day and the night that followed Audrey watched andwaited. 

She spent the terrible hours at the Raleighs' bungalow, scarcelyconscious of her surroundings in her anguish of suspense. It possessedher like a raging fever, and she could not rest. At times it almostseemed to suffocate her, and then she would pace to and fro, to and fro, hardly knowing what she did. 

Mrs. Raleigh never left her, caring for her with a maternal tendernessthat never flagged. But for her Audrey would almost certainly havecollapsed under the strain. 

"If he had only known! If he had only known!" she kept repeating. "Buthow could he know? for I never showed him. How could he even guess? Andnow he never can know. It's too late, too late!"

Futile, bitter regret! All through the night it followed her, and whenmorning came the haggard misery it had wrought upon her face had robbedit of all its youth. 

Mrs. Raleigh tried to comfort her with hopeful words, but she did notseem so much as to hear them. She was listening, listening intently, forevery sound. 

It was about noon that young Travers raced in, hot and breathless, buthe stopped short in evident dismay when he saw Audrey. He would havewithdrawn as precipitately as he had entered, but she sprang after himand caught him by the arms. 

"You have news!" she cried wildly. "What is it? Oh, what is it? Tell mequickly!"

He hesitated and glanced nervously at Mrs. Raleigh. 

"Yes, tell her, " the latter said. "It is better than suspense. "

And so briefly, jerkily, the boy blurted on his news:

"Phil's back again; but they haven't got the major. The fort wasdeserted, except for one old man, and they have brought him along. Theyare over at the colonel's bungalow now. "

He paused, shocked by the awful look his tidings had brought intoAudrey's eyes. 

The next instant she had sprung past him to the open door and was gone, bareheaded and distraught, into the blazing sunshine. 

How she covered the distance of the long, white road to the colonel'sbungalow, Audrey never remembered afterwards. Her agony of mind was toogreat for her brain to register any impression of physical stress. Sheonly knew that she ran and ran as one runs in a nightmare, tillsuddenly she was on the veranda of the colonel's bungalow, stumbling, breathless, crying hoarsely for "Phil! Phil!"

He came to her instantly. 

"Where is he?" she cried, in high, strained tones. "Where is my husband?You promised to bring him back to me! You promised--you promised--"

Her voice failed. She felt choked, as if an iron hand were slowly, remorselessly, crushing the life out of her panting heart. Thickdarkness hovered above her, but she fought it from her wildly, frantically. 

"You promised--" She gasped again. 

He took her gently by the arm, supporting her. 

"Mrs. Tudor, " he said very earnestly, "I have done my best. "

He led her unresisting into a room close by. The colonel was there, andwith him a man in flowing, native garments. 

"Mrs. Tudor, " said Phil, his hand closing tightly upon her arm, "beforeyou blame me, I want you to speak to this man. He can tell you moreabout your husband than I can. "

He spoke very quietly, very steadily, almost as if he were afraid shemight not understand him. 

Audrey made an effort to collect her reeling senses. The colonel benttowards her. 

"Don't be afraid of him, Mrs. Tudor, " he said kindly. "He is a friend, and he speaks English. "

But Audrey did not so much as glance at the native, who stood, silentand impassive, waiting to be questioned. The agony of the past thirtyhours had reached its limit. She sank into a chair by the colonel'stable and hid her face in her shaking hands. 

"I've nothing to ask him, " she said hopelessly. "Eustace isdead--dead--dead, without ever knowing how I loved him. Nothing mattersnow. There is nothing left that ever can matter. "

Dead silence succeeded her words, then a quiet movement, then silenceagain. 

She did not look up or stir. Her passion of grief had burnt itself out. She was exhausted mentally and physically. 

Minutes passed, but she did not move. What was there to rouse her? Therewas nothing left. She had no tears to shed. Tears were for small things. This grief of hers was too immense, too infinite for tears. 

Only at last something, some inner prompting, stirred her, and as if atthe touch of a hand that compelled, she raised her head. 

She saw neither the colonel nor Phil, and a sharp prick of wonderpierced her lethargy of despair. She turned in her chair, obedient stillto that inner force that compelled. Yes, they had gone. Only the nativeremained--an old, bent man, who humbly awaited her pleasure. His facewas almost hidden in his _chuddah_. 

Audrey looked at him. 

"There is nothing to wait for, " she said at length. "You need notstay. "

He did not move. It was as if he had not heard. Her wonder grew into asort of detached curiosity. What did the man want? She remembered thatthe colonel had told her that he understood English. 

"Is there--something--you wish to say to me?" she asked, and the bareutterance of the words kindled a feeble spark of hope within her, almostin spite of herself. 

He turned very slowly. 

"Yes, one thing, " he said, paused an instant as she sprang to her feetwith a great cry, then straightened himself, pushed the _chuddah_ backfrom his face, and flung out his arms to her passionately. 

"Audrey!" he said--"Audrey!"

CHAPTER XIII

HAPPINESS AGAIN

By slow degrees Audrey learnt the story of her husband's escape. 

It was Phil's doing in the main, he told her simply, and she understoodthat but for Phil he would not have taken the trouble. Something Philhad said to him that night had stuck in his mind, and it had finallydecided him to make the attempt. 

Circumstances had favoured him. Moreover it was by no means the firsttime that he had been among the Hill tribes in native guise. Onesentinel alone had returned to guard the hut after Phil's departure, andthis man he had succeeded in overpowering without raising an alarm. 

Then, disguising himself once more, he had managed to escape just beforethe dawn, and had lain hidden for hours among the boulders of theriver-bed, fearing to emerge by daylight. But in the evening he had lefthis hiding-place, and found the fort to be occupied by British troops. The Waris had gone to earth before their advance, and they had found theplace deserted. 

He had forthwith presented himself in his disguise and been takenbefore Phil, the officer-in-command. 

"But surely he knew you?"

"Yes, he knew me. But I swore him to secrecy. "

She drew a little closer to him. 

"Eustace, why?" she whispered. 

His arm tightened about her. 

"I had to know the truth first, " he said. 

"Oh!" she murmured. "And now--are you satisfied?"

He bent and kissed her forehead gravely, tenderly. 

"I am satisfied, " he said. 

 * * * * *

"Well, didn't I tell you so?" laughed Phil, when they shook hands later. 

Audrey did not ask him what he meant, for, with all his honesty, Philcould be enigmatical when he chose. Moreover, it really didn't muchmatter, for, as she tacitly admitted to herself, fond as she was of him, he no longer occupied the place of honour in her thoughts, and she wasnot vitally interested in him now that the trouble was over. 

So when, a few weeks later, Phil cheerily packed his belongings anddeparted to Poonah, having effected an exchange into the other battalionstationed there, only his major understood why, and was sorry. 

ETHEL M. DELL'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

THE LAMP IN THE DESERT

The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the lampof love that continues to shine through all sorts of tribulations tofinal happiness. 

GREATHEART

The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul. 

THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE

A hero who worked to win even when there was only "a hundredth chance. "

THE SWINDLER

The story of a "bad man's" soul revealed by a woman's faith. 

THE TIDAL WAVE

Tales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the false. 

THE SAFETY CURTAIN

A very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four otherlong stories of equal interest. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York