Front matter (continued 7)

His stillness began to act upon her nerves. She turned towards him restlessly. "Oh, what is it?" she said, veiling her doubt with a show of impatience.

He stretched out a strong hand and took one of hers. "It's you, my girl," he said, and in his voice was a note of anxiety that partly reassured her. "You've not been yourself lately. Guess there's something the matter."

"There is nothing the matter," she said hastily.

He held her hand closely. "You've no call to be afraid of me," he said gently. "Maybe, I've been rough and rude at times. I've never meant it, my princess. I can't live up to you always; but I try,--God knows I try!"

A sudden tremor sounded in his voice; he became abruptly silent.

Maud's hand was hard clenched in his. She did not look at him; but the beating of her heart rose up between them--a hard, insistent drumming that she was powerless to control.

After a brief space he spoke again, his voice quite steady and controlled. "Reckon you're not happy. Reckon you're not well either. I've been thinking maybe you'd like to go away for a spell--you and the boy. If so, I'm willing to manage it. It'll be a bit of a rest for you."

He paused. The clenched hand he held had made a sharp, convulsive movement as if at a sudden twinge of pain. Maud lay breathing rapidly, her eyes fixed upon the flame of the candle.

He waited a few moments; then, "What do you think of the proposition, my girl?" he asked.

She turned her head slowly towards him. "Bunny and I alone?" she said.

"That's the idea," said Jake.

Her eyes met his resolutely, with a certain challenging directness. "As a matter of fact, I had thought myself that we might go to Uncle Edward for a little," she said.

He showed no surprise. "You would like that?" he asked.

"Yes." She spoke with instant decision.

"Then go!" said Jake. He set her hand free with the words, but he remained seated as if he had something further on his mind. "By the way," he said, after a moment, "I had a letter this evening."

She started. "A letter?"

"Yes." Very deliberately he answered her. "I met the postman and took it from him at the door."

"Ah!" It was scarcely more than a whisper. She shrank against her pillow with a gesture wholly involuntary.

Jake's eyes were upon her, alert, unswerving, dominating. "My letter came from Capper," he said quietly. "He is coming to us in a few days; he wants to see Bunny again before he leaves England."

"Oh, surely we needn't wait for him!" With a sudden rush the words came; she spoke with feverish vehemence. "If we really are going away, let us go soon!" she urged. "Why should we wait?"

"I thought maybe you'd like to say 'Thank you' to Capper before he goes," said Jake.

"But I needn't see him for that," she said, in growing agitation. "I'll write."

Jake was silent.

"He will very likely sail from Liverpool," she went on. "Be could come and see Bunny there."

Jake bent towards her. "Say, Maud," he said in his soft slow way, "don't be upset any. If you're not wanting to meet Capper, it's all one to me. But, my girl, there ain't anything he could tell me about you that I don't know already."

Her face flamed scarlet. For the moment she was furious with an indignation that burned intolerably. Her very soul felt on fire. It was more than she could bear.

"Oh, go away!" she cried out fiercely. "Go, I say! Go! You make me hate you more and more every day--every night!" He rose on the instant. For a few quivering moments she thought she had roused him to anger, for his eyes glowed in the dimness like a slow-burning fire. And then in utter silence he turned away. He went into his own room, and softly closed the door.

CHAPTER VI

THE PROBLEM

"He's going to be a winner, is he?" asked Saltash, flicking the ash from his cigarette as he stood in the training-field with Jake.

"That depends how he's ridden, my lord," said Jake dryly. "He is a hot favourite."

"Pity you can't ride him yourself," observed Saltash, watching the Albatross with a critical eye as he cantered down the field. "Who is in the saddle? Not Vickers?"

"No. Vickers is incapacitated. I have put Stevens up. He seems keen for the chance, though I'm not so keen to give it him," Jake spoke with grimness.

"He ought to pull it off," said Saltash.

"He ought, my lord." Jake's tone lacked conviction notwithstanding.

Saltash turned. "What's the matter with the lad? You don't seem over enthusiastic about him."

Jake flicked at a clump of nettles with his riding-whip. "I've done my best to shape him, but he's a bit of a cur. The animals don't trust him."

Saltash uttered a careless laugh. "Oh, you always were an adept at reading the equine mind. Come along and show me the latest offspring! What was it you called him? The Hundredth Chance? A curious name to choose!"

Jake's grim face relaxed to a smile. "Oh, he's in the paddock along with his mother. He promises to be the most valuable animal in the Stables. He'll carry everything before him when the time comes."

"Is that why you've given him such a hopeful name?" asked Saltash.

Jake uttered a brief laugh. "Even so, my lord. He carries my luck with him wherever he goes."

"You're a queer fish, Bolton," observed Saltash, turning to leave the field.

The paddock lay on the further side of the orchard, and here they found the pride of Jake's heart, a frisky black foal who kicked up his heels and scampered at the sight of him.

"He'll take some taming presently," commented Saltash.

"And he'll knock spots off any animal I have ever had to tame," said Jake.

Saltash laughed again with nonchalant interest. "If ever there were the right man in the right place, it is you," he said. "Can we go back through the garden? I believe that's the shortest way." He spoke with a wary glance in the direction whither he wished to go. A white figure was visible on the steps that led into the parlour. "I hear Mrs. Bolton is away," he added, immediately averting his eyes.

Jake turned in his sturdy fashion, and began to walk towards the house. "No, she is at home for the present," he said. "We are expecting Capper. In fact the lad has gone to the station to meet him."

"What! Bunny? Is he really all right? Capper must be a magician!" ejaculated Saltash.

"He is the biggest man I know," said Jake simply.

They approached the house. The white figure had disappeared.

Saltash chatted inconsequently, strolling along with a cigarette between his lips, and a confident smile on his dark face. He had come down as usual unexpectedly, but she was probably aware of his advent. His car was awaiting him in the stable-yard. He did not think she would suffer him to pass the window unnoticed.

Yet as he drew near she made no sign. Chops came smiling down the steps to greet him, and he paused at once to fondle the dog.

Jake paused also, but he did not invite him to enter. He stood pulling at the lash of his riding-whip, stolidly patient, awaiting his patron's pleasure.

Suddenly Saltash looked up. "I believe your guest has arrived, Bolton. You'd better go. Never mind me!"

There came undoubtedly the sound of wheels from the other side of the house. Jake glanced towards the gate that led thither. Saltash bent again over the dog.

"You'd better go," he reiterated. "I won't show. Don't let me keep you!"

Jake raised a hand to his cap and turned away.

Instantly Saltash straightened himself. He uttered a low, clear whistle, and almost immediately Maud, clad in white, came to the window. He sprang up the steps in a single bound and caught her hands into his own.

"I had your letter," he said. "Quick! When can you meet me?"

Maud was gasping a little. Her face was deeply flushed. "Charlie! You are so sudden! I only want--a few minutes alone with you."

He held her hands. "When?" he said.

His eyes were gazing into hers freely, ardently; but he was laughing as he always laughed, ready to turn his ardour into a joke at a moment's notice.

She hesitated.

"Quick!" he said. "They are coming, and I must go. Come down to the orchard-gate after dinner to-night! Jake and Capper will be smoking. No one will know, Queen Rose. That is settled then. I shall be at the gate alone." He laughed under his breath, lifted her hands to his lips, made a wide gesture as if he would clasp her in his arms, laughed again as she drew back, and wheeling, sprang down the steps and was gone in a moment round the side of the house.

Maud's cheeks were burning. She turned to meet the visitor with the feeling of one who has had a sudden rapid fall through space. She was not sure of the ground beneath her feet.

She did not know how she greeted Capper, but somehow the difficult moment passed. She was convinced afterwards that her manner had been perfectly normal, for the atmosphere was quite natural and free from strain. In a very few minutes they were all seated round the tea-table, and to her relief Bunny, and not she, was the centre of observation and general topic of their talk.

She feared that when tea was over Capper would seek her out; but he did not. He went round the Stables with Jake.

She went to her own room to rest and recover her composure. It was true that she had wanted to see Charlie alone; in fact it had become essential to her mother's interests that she should do so. But she had not altogether expected so prompt a reply to her request. She wished she could have made some more ordinary arrangement. She wished with all her heart that she had had the presence of mind to veto his suggestion. It had never been her intention to meet him secretly and at night. Not that she cared personally how or when she met him. Their friendship was too old for that. But she did not like secrecy. Small as was the confidence she extended to her husband, she yet had no desire to exclude him deliberately from the knowledge of her doings. She did not wish to commit any act, however innocent, which might appear suspicious in his eyes.

The thing was unavoidable, however, the appointment was made. She could not leave Charlie to wait in vain. For this once she must run the risk and trust to luck to bring her through. It would not be a long interview; she was fully determined upon that point. And she would never agree to another on the same clandestine lines. She must assert her independence, and meet him openly. Jake must learn to trust her. She must not suffer him to interfere with her liberty of action. If he were ridiculous enough to be jealous, that was his affair. She would not allow herself to be influenced by such an absurd attitude. She never questioned his doings; she must not suffer him to question hers. So she sought to reassure herself the while her uneasiness grew.

She put on a dress of black lace when the supper-hour drew near. It made her look even paler than her wont, but she gave scarcely a thought to her appearance. Her mind was weighed down by far more serious matters.

Even the prospect of a tête-à-tête with Dr. Capper hardly disquieted her, and when she discovered him on the garden-steps of the parlour she went forward to join him without hesitation.

His greeting of her was full of kindness; there was nothing disconcerting about his attitude.

"I was just thinking about my friend Rafford," he said. "You remember him? And how mad he went over that piece of statuary at Burchester Castle? But, strange to say, it's not the anatomy that interests him any longer. It's the face."

She felt herself colour a little. "If it bears any resemblance to me, it is purely accidental," she said.

"Or rather, a coincidence," amended Capper. "It's a fine piece of work anyway. But he is nothing of a judge. Guess it's just the humanity of the thing that gets him."

"It's rather a painful study," Maud said.

"Ah, but it leaves endless possibilities. That is where the genius of the sculptor displays itself. Rafford saw that. 'The hotter the furnace, the purer the gold,' he said to me; 'if I had the naming of that work I'd call it The Crucible or Seven Times Purified.'"

"What a peculiar point of view!" Maud exclaimed, almost in spite of herself.

Capper assented. "Raff is highly imaginative. He has a very long perspective. A bit of a dreamer too. If it weren't for that, I should prophesy a great future for him. But there's no time for dreaming in this world. You must either hustle through or be content to stand aside. You can't do both."

"I don't like hustling," Maud said, with a smile.

He made her a bow. "No, you are English. But Raff has not that excuse. That's why I doubt if he ever gets there. He needs to be up against a thing before he considers it worth while. That's not the way to win out handsomely. It's the way to get whipped off the field."

"Always make for the crest of the wave!" said Jake's voice behind them. "You may get there--some day--if you're lucky; though it's more likely you'll be dragged under and swamped."

Capper turned to him. "Not you, Jake!" he said. "You're a born winner. I'm sure Mrs. Bolton will bear me out there."

Jake's hand descended upon his wife's shoulder. "Mrs. Bolton doesn't know my capabilities in that respect at present," he remarked dryly. "She has only witnessed the start."

Maud did not turn her head. "You are all invincible, of course," she said.

Bunny's advent diverted the conversation. He could think and talk of nothing but the forthcoming races at Graydown which had been fixed for the end of the week, and which he had prevailed upon Jake to allow him to attend.

Capper, though not particularly enthusiastic, was to remain for them, "just to see Jake come out on top," as he expressed it. It was taken for granted by all that Maud would go too, and she supposed she would do so; but she took no part in the conversation which Bunny found so all-absorbing. She was too occupied with the thought of Charlie.

There was no need for her to talk. She sat silent and abstracted while the protracted discussion went on around her. Bunny had learned more about the animals in ten days than she had discovered in as many weeks, and Capper listened with amused indulgence. It all went over her head, and no one seemed to notice her aloofness.

Bunny would gladly have sat up till late, but Jake would not permit this. He ordered him off to bed on the stroke of nine, and Bunny went without demur. He was learning to obey his brother-in-law without any thought of rebellion. Maud noted the fact bitterly. It was another proof to her of the despotic mastery of Jake's personality. He ruled them all.

She herself rose from the table upon Bunny's departure, and as she did so she was for the first time conscious of Capper's critical scrutiny. It passed almost immediately as he sprang to his feet to open the door.

"I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again?" he asked.

She bent her head. "I am only going to fetch a wrap for the garden."

He smiled and bowed her out.

Jake was in the act of lighting a cigarette when he returned to the table. He proffered the end of it to Capper, and as the latter stooped to kindle his own their eyes met. Capper's held a question that could scarcely be ignored.

Half-reluctantly Jake removed his cigarette and spoke. "It's the biggest problem I've ever been up against."

Capper puffed forth a cloud of smoke. "What's troubling you?"

Jake sat down heavily. "She ain't pleased--not any. Life is damnably difficult. I thought I was going to make her happy, but I've made an almighty failure of it. She used to just tolerate me in the old days; but now--she hates the very sight of me. The mere thought of bearing me a child seems to drive her clean crazy."

He ceased to speak and sat bowed in his chair, his chin on his breast, his eyes gazing sombrely forth under bent brows.

Capper was still on his feet. He stood cracking his fingers one after the other with meditative regularity. His eyes, very green and shrewd, rested upon Jake's head that shone like copper in the lamplight.

There fell a silence of several seconds; then at length with another great puff of smoke he spoke. "Guess it's just a case for patience, Jake, my lad. These things right 'emselves, you know, when the time comes. It's wonderful how childbearing softens a woman. And you love her. That'll make a difference too--when the time comes."

Jake did not look up. "God knows I do," he said slowly. "But you know, Doc--" he seemed to be speaking with something of an effort--"I don't fancy she knows it."

"Oh, shucks!" Capper exclaimed. "She wouldn't be a woman if she didn't."

Jake shook his head despondently. "I suppose I'm just a brute beast. She thinks so, and I can't show her anything different now. Maybe I am more flesh than spirit; but for all that she is the one woman I want, and none other could ever satisfy me now. But I haven't got her. Even when I hold her in my arms, she ain't there. And she has never kissed me, never once."

Again he ceased to speak, and Capper pulled at his beard and said nothing.

There fell a long silence between them through which the grandfather clock in the corner ticked with a melancholy beat. It was like the heart of a tired man.

Jake's cigarette hung neglected between his fingers which almost trailed on the floor. His eyes still stared before him as though they saw one thing, and only one.

Capper smoked with scarcely a pause. His yellow face was very thoughtful His cigarette came to an end, and he dropped it smouldering on to a plate. Then he turned and laid a kindly hand upon Jake's shoulder.

"Keep a stiff upper lip, my son! I guess she's yours for the winning, or she will be. It's no good trying to understand a woman's moods. You never will do that as long as you live. But she'll come to you in the end, sure. Give her all the rope you can! If she hasn't any use for you at present, it'll come."

"Will it?" said Jake rather bitterly. "I reckon I'm further away from winning her now than I've ever been. Once--it's ages ago--she came to me and cried out her troubles on my shoulder. She'd no more dream of doing that now than she'd dream of flying. She'd be more likely to--" He broke off short.

"What?" said Capper.

Jake sat slowly up. His eyes still seemed to be fixed upon some definite object. "I was going to say," he said, in a voice that had become peculiarly soft and deliberate, "that she'd be more likely to carry her troubles to Saltash. But I don't think exactly that. He's too crooked to hold a woman's confidence. No woman with any sense would trust him."

He grasped Capper's hand and looked up with a curious smile.

"It would be a pity to have to shoot a freak like Saltash; wouldn't it?" he said. "Reckon a good many women would miss him."

His eyes shone red for a moment, then he uttered a laugh that seemed to dismiss the subject.

"Come into the garden and see the moon rise!" he said.

CHAPTER VII

THE LAND OF MOONSHINE

The dew was thick on the orchard grass as Maud ran down under the trees. An orange moon was rising behind them and the shadows lay deep and mysterious across her path. The wind blew fresh from the sea, sweeping the wide down, bringing relief after the heat of the day.

She was trembling as she went, yet as she neared the trysting-place she checked herself and walked with some dignity. She did not want to arrive in a state of agitation. She was sure he would be waiting for her. She was sure, she was sure!

Yes, he was there. They saw each other simultaneously, and in a moment he had sprung to meet her with the ardour she knew so well. Her hands were in his almost in the same instant. He held them closely, lingeringly.

"At last!" he said.

Rather breathlessly she made response. "Yes, but I can't stay. I want to speak to you--only to speak to you--about my mother."

"Good heavens!" said Saltash. His hold relaxed for a second, then tightened again. "My dear girl, how absurdly prosaic of you to come to me on such a night as this and talk about anybody or anything on earth besides ourselves! I won't allow it and that's a fact."

She laughed a little unsteadily. "But it is just that I have come for, Charlie; and nothing else. And I can't stay either. You must let me say what I have to say quickly, and then go."

He drew her gently through the gate and led her to the summer-house close by that overlooked the down. The moonlight filtered in upon them through a lattice-work of leaves.

"Don't tremble, ma belle reine!" he said. "You shall go whenever you will. But need we waste to-night? I will call upon you formally in the morning if you desire it and talk about anything you wish."

She sat down with the feeling of one who moves beneath a spell, and after a moment he sat beside her, still lightly holding her hand. Yes, she was at liberty to go whenever she would; and yet she could not, she could not!

The witchery of the hour was upon her. It was not the first time that they had sat thus, he and she, hand in hand, wrapped in the mystery and romance of a summer night. Her thoughts went back with a bitter pang to the old dear dream. Ah, why had she sent him from her? She had obeyed the instincts of her soul, perchance; but she had wrecked her life to do it. Why? Why?

He was speaking, leaning to her, his swarthy face against her shoulder. "Maud, let us forget the world to-night! Never mind what brought you! Just remember that you are here--in the land of moonshine--with me!"

She turned at his voice; she yielded ever so slightly to the subtle drawing of his hand. "But let me speak, Charlie!" she whispered. "I am so troubled. I want your help."

"It is yours for ever," he made answer. "You have but to command."

"That is a promise?" she urged.

"My solemn promise," said Saltash. "Now--shall we forget?"

His voice was full of a tenderness that stirred her to the depths. A piteous sob caught her throat; she put up a swift, silencing hand. "Oh, if I only could!" she said.

"You can," said Saltash. He moved also, slid a gentle arm about her. "Close your eyes, dear heart, and forget all your troubles!" he whispered. "I can charm them all away."

She shook her head. Her eyes were full of tears. "I am caught in the whirlpools, Charlie," she whispered back. "I shall never get away. All the romance is gone out of my life--for ever."

"I can bring it back," he said.

Her tears overflowed. She could not hold them back. "I wish I were dead!" she said.

The arm that encircled her grew gradually tense like the tightening of a coil. "Come to me!" he murmured. "Listen to your own heart and come! What does it matter what lies behind? Put it all away from you--and come!"

She suffered his arm, but she yielded herself no further to it. "I can't," she said hopelessly. "I--can't."

"Why not?" he urged. "Haven't I waited long enough? Are you afraid?"

She bent her head, covering her face. "Oh yes, I am afraid--afraid. Life is so dreadful. It is full of--terrible consequences."

It had come upon her so suddenly. She had as it were stepped out of prison into a world of seething temptation with the passing of that gate. Never before had she felt so lured and drawn by that which was evil. The swift spell had caught her in a moment, and it held,--how it held her!

His arms were about her. He drew her to his breast. "What do I care for consequences?" he whispered passionately. "Come to me, queen of my heart! I have been cheated of my right long enough. Yes, my right--my right! You have belonged to me always, and you know it. Oh, what are we to fight against destiny? Do you think I don't know how you have suffered? Do you think I haven't suffered too? All because you loved me--and sent me away! You will never do that again, queen of the roses. You have called me back to you. You are mine. Turn your face to me, sweetheart! There is no love in all the world like ours. How can we resist it? It is greater than we ourselves."

But she kept her face covered, hidden low against the throbbing of his heart.

His words went into silence--a silence that was stark and cold--the very shadow of Despair. It bound them both for a while; then shudderingly she spoke.

"It is no good, Charlie. I can't do it--now. If I had known--three months ago--what was before me--I think I would have come. But the whirlpools caught me--drew me down. I realized too late--too late. I can't come now. I am bound--hand and foot--in outer darkness."

"I can deliver you," he said.

"No one can deliver me." The bitter conviction of her voice silenced even him. "It is what you foretold. I am a slave, and I have got to bear the yoke of my slavery. I shall never be free now, never as long as I live. I am bound to the oar by chain that--even you--could never break."

She moved in his arms; she raised her head at last.

"Say good-bye to me, Charlie!" she whispered, "and--go!"

He caught her to him. He looked closely into her quivering face. "You love me still?" he whispered, with passionate insistence. "Tell me you love me still!"

She seemed to hesitate as if reluctant or irresolute. She seemed about to draw back. And then something magnetic in his face or his touch must haw moved her; or was it the weird enchantment of the night? She gave him her lips without a word, and so he had his answer....

There came the click of the orchard-gate, the sound of a quiet voice.

"Come round to the summer-house, Doc! There's a fine view from there."

Maud stiffened in Saltash's arms as if turned to stone.

He set her free with the utmost coolness and rose. The next instant she was sitting alone in the chequered moonlight. He had vanished without sound round the side of the arbour furthest from the orchard-gate.

She sat with a thumping heart, waiting. There had been something almost eerie in his disappearance. She knew he must be standing pressed against the wall by which she sat, but yet his going had been so silent that--even though her lips still burned with the memory of his kiss--she felt curiously as though the whole episode were as incredible as a dream.

She made no attempt to move. Her limbs felt like lead. Only her heart raced so madly that she gasped for breath.

She heard again the quiet, drawling voice. "The gate was open. Very likely my wife is here."

A great shiver went through her. She felt suddenly cold from head to foot. She clasped her hands tightly together, striving with all her strength for self-control.

There fell the tread of feet upon the grass, and Capper's tall thin form came round the side of the arbour. He saw her in a moment, for the moonlight was on her face. She stared at him with hunted eyes. Where was Jake?

He accosted her at once. "Ah, Mrs. Bolton, so here you are! Say, do you think you're wise to sit here with the frogs? It's cold, you know. Where's that wrap you were going to fetch?"

She stretched out a hand to him instinctively. "Yes, I am cold," she said, and her teeth chattered upon the words. "Is--is--Jake there?"

Capper glanced over his shoulder. "He was there. But--Columbus!--how cold you are, child! You will be sick if you stay here. Come! Let me take you in!"

He drew her to her feet; then, as she tottered, leaning upon him, passed a wiry arm about her. As he did so, she saw Jake come round the other corner of the arbour and stop upon the threshold.

She turned suddenly giddy and clung weakly to Capper. He had seen; he must have seen! But why had there been no encounter--no challenge of any sort? Where--where was Charlie?

She went through an agony of apprehension during those few moments. She thought the awful suspense would kill her.

Then Jake's square figure advanced, blocking the opening. His voice pierced through her agitation.

"So you have found her, Doc. I thought she would be hereabouts. I see there is a mist coming up. We had better go in."

There was nothing in the words, but she shivered uncontrollably at the sound of them. That slow soft speech was as a veil that hid unutterable things. With a great effort she mastered her weakness and spoke.

"Yes, it has turned quite cold. I think it is the dew. Did you come here to admire the view, Dr. Capper? It is one of the best in the neighbourhood. I often think I should like to come and camp out here on these summer nights."

"You would want plenty of blankets," said Capper. "There is a creepy chill in the atmosphere that reminds one of the fall." He took his arm from about her, and drew her hand through it. "Come, we must go. It isn't right for you to take risks. A glass of wine before you turn in is what I should recommend."

She made an attempt to laugh, but she did not feel it to be a success. "That is Jake's invariable remedy for all ills," she declared. "But I thought it had ceased to be popular with your profession."

She emerged from the summer-house, holding his arm, but a new strength born of terrible expediency seemed to have entered into her. She moved without effort, Jake stepping back to let her pass.

"Do admire the beauties of it before we go!" she urged. "It is so romantic by this light. The Brethaven lighthouse is over there. It has a revolving light. Do you see it?" She turned and spoke over her shoulder. "Jake, come and show Dr. Capper all the different points of interest."

But Capper would have none of it. "I shan't be satisfied till I've got you indoors," he said. "What have you got on your feet? Nothing but light slippers? Say, Mrs. Bolton, you ought to take more care of yourself."

"Oh, but I never have," she protested. "I am wonderfully strong. Jake will tell you that."

"I think as Dr. Capper thinks," Jake said. "You ought to be more careful."

She felt herself flush. Now that her agitation had subsided, she was capable of feeling resentment once more, and there was that in the quiet utterance that stung her.

She made no rejoinder, but her face burned hotter and hotter as they began to walk back. She was sure--quite sure--that she had been made a subject of discussion between her husband and Dr. Capper.

Jake walked on her other side. She had the feeling of being a prisoner between two warders. And she wondered if Charlie were watching with that mocking humour in his eyes.

She set her teeth as the memory of his voice, his touch, went through her. She wondered with a sinking heart what she would have to tell him when they met again....

CHAPTER VIII

THE WARNING

Half an hour later Maud stood in her bedroom, waiting. The window was wide open, and the night-air blew in cold and pure, with a scent of dew-drenched roses and the salt of the sea behind. There was a large moth in the room. It had been attracted thither by the light of the candles, but it seemed to be dashing to and fro now in a wild search for freedom. She watched its futile efforts with a vague pity. But she was powerless to help it. Every moment it was circling closer and closer to the flame and would probably perish there in the end. She supposed it didn't matter. It was born to die in any case, and surely death was kinder than life. She had often thought so.

If she could have chosen death in that moment instead of this numb waiting for an ordeal which she felt would be beyond her strength, she believed she would not have hesitated. This continual battling against a will so immeasurably stronger than her own was wearing her down. The bare thought of an open conflict made her sick. And that an open conflict was before her she felt convinced. He had not chosen to confound her in the presence of Capper, but she knew that the reckoning was only deferred. She had come to know him as a man of unerring justice, and she had long ceased to hope for mercy from him.

Ah! She heard his step at last, and turned, bracing herself. The moth was flitting dizzily round and round the candle. Her eyes followed it fascinated.

Suddenly it made a headlong dash for the flame, there came a sharp crackle, and then the dull thud of its fall upon the floor. A great shudder caught her, almost convulsed her. And in the same instant the door that intervened between her room and Jake's opened; and he stood before her.

She faced him stiffly in utter silence. One glimpse she had of his face, and only one; for she could not look again. The red-brown eyes were alight with a fire that seemed to consume her even from afar. She stood and numbly waited.

He came straight to her. "So," he said, "you have decided to make a fool of me, have you?"

His voice was very low, but it had in it the sound as of an angry animal. There was something of the animal in his pose also, something from which her whole being shrank affrighted.

Yet she was not without courage. She forced herself to a certain calmness. "Will you tell me what you mean?" she said.

He made a slight gesture that seemed to cry aloud of a savagery scarcely restrained. "I guess you can do that," he said. "What do I mean? Tell me!"

She drew back from him with an instinctive movement of recoil, but on the instant, as though she had stepped into a trap, his hands came out and caught her by the wrists. He held her firmly before him.

"Tell me!" he reiterated.

But she took refuge in silence. She had no words.

He held her so for many seconds, and she knew that during those seconds his eyes remained immovably fixed upon her. She made no attempt to resist him. She knew beyond all question that resistance would be worse than useless. But she refused with mute determination to meet his eyes. Crush her, conquer her, as he would, he should not force his way past every barrier unopposed. Her submission was physical but not mental. She had always held back from him her soul.

He spoke at length, and still in his voice she heard that terrible, deep menace as of a savage force that gathered and gathered under the thinning surface of his civilization. "I reckon you think I'm easier to fool than I am. Old friends must have their privileges. Ain't that so? And if they include a little genteel love-making, where's the harm? Who is to raise any objection? Not the husband who has been too big an oaf ever to make love to you in his life! The husband who just takes what he wants and leaves what's over for the lover! He should be the last person to interfere, I reckon. Ain't that so?"

She shivered in his hold, but she spoke no word. Had they not always been utterly at variance with one another? How could she hope to make him see anything but evil now that his brutal passions were aroused? How could she ever attempt to convince him that he alone was responsible for the fact that temptation had become even possible to her?

And so she stood in silence while the dreadful force of the man mounted and mounted, menacing her.

He waited for several seconds for some response from her; then, at last, as she made none, he moved, drew her locked wrists behind her, forcing her slowly back till her face was turned up to his gaze.

She felt the scorching fire of the eyes she would not meet, and in a moment her whole body seemed to burn in a furnace of shame. The hot blood stung her from head to foot, pricking every vein. Crimson and quivering, she hung there in his hold, waiting.

"So you won't speak to me?" he said. "Won't even try to defend yourself? Well, maybe you're wise. Maybe explanations would do more harm than good. I know well enough how it is with you. You've got to the pitch of enduring me like a loathsome but incurable disease. You never reflected, did you, that in so doing you were making your own hell? You hate me, but you don't realize that the thing you hate is not me at all but a brute of your own creation. And because of that--p'raps it's a natural consequence--you've come to prefer another man's love to mine."

His hold was tightening upon her; she felt herself being drawn to him, felt the warmth of his body like the glow of an open fire. And a sudden wild wave of rebellion went through her, goading her into action at last. She had never resisted him before; she resisted him now fiercely, passionately, striving with all her strength to free herself from that pitiless hold.

"You never offered me love," she panted, straining back from him even while he mastered her. "Love--love--is a very different thing!"

Her voice went into a gasp that was almost a cry. He was holding her crushed to him in a grip that nearly suffocated her. His eyes blazed down into hers, terrible in their intensity, cruelly, appallingly bright. The savage in him had leapt free of all shackles at last, and had her utterly at his mercy.

"Well?" he said, speaking with lips drawn back, showing his set teeth. "And what is love--as defined by you--and Saltash? Something peculiarly holy?"

The taunt pierced her like a knife, with a pain so unbearable that for the moment she was almost beside herself. For an instant she winced from that intolerable thrust; but only for an instant. The next with a furious wrench she freed one hand and struck him--struck him across his grim, menacing mouth.

"How dare you say that?" she cried. "How dare you? How dare you?"

She struck him afresh with each repetition, so stung to frenzy was she by that sneer. But when the sudden realization that he stood to endure her blows without the smallest attempt to check or avoid them came upon her, the spirit went out of her. She became passive again, trembling from head to foot, so that but for his upholding arms she must have fallen.

"Let me go!" she whispered voicelessly. "Let me go!"

He was still gazing at her, but his look had changed. His eyes still burned, but they no longer threatened. Rather she read in them a slow-gathering wonder, as of a man who has picked up some strange substance of which he does not know the value or properties.

He held her awhile longer, and then very gradually he let her go.

She drew away from him, her bosom heaving, her lips panting, and leaned upon the dressing-table for support. She had withstood him indeed, but it had cost her every inch of her strength.

She did not know how she endured his silence. It seemed to pierce every nerve, while he still stood observing her, as it were appraising her.

Then at length very slowly he spoke. "I take back what I said about Saltash. I see I was wrong."

He paused a moment. She had made a sharp gesture of surprise, but she spoke no word. He went on.

"I realize--now--that you do not know what love is. If you did, you wouldn't be so--ashamed. Maybe you never will know. It isn't given to all of us--not that sort. But let me tell you this! Your friendship--or whatever you call it--with Saltash must end. There must be no more letters--no more secret meetings. Saltash is not a white man. I believe in your own heart you know it. Trust him, and he will let you down,--sure."

He spoke with sombre force. She heard him in utter silence, her head bent, still striving to call back her vanished strength.

He came a step nearer to her. "Maybe you think you can hoodwink me--disobey me, and I shan't know. You haven't a very great opinion of my intellect, I guess. But--you may take it from me--I shall know. And if you try to deceive me, you will repent it. You wouldn't fancy life on a lone ranch with not a soul but me to speak to--and all the dishes to wash?" A grim note that was not without a hint of humour crept into his voice. "That's what it will mean, my girl, if you don't obey your husband now. I'm a man of my word, and I think you know it."

He was standing close to her. She felt the vitality of the man, encompassing her, enthralling her. Her brief resistance was over. The very heart of her felt too tired to beat. He had not forcibly quelled her rebellion, yet in some fashion he had taken from her the power to rebel.

He waited for her to speak, but still she could not. Only after a moment or two she drew back from him again and sat down in a chair by the table. He had delivered his ultimatum. There seemed nothing more to be said.

She wished dully that he would go. Surely he could see that the game was his, that she had ceased to move or to attempt to counter that final stroke! Yet he still stood motionless, almost as if he were waiting for something.

Suddenly he spoke again with an odd, restrained vehemence; she felt that he spoke in spite of himself. "That's a prospect that doesn't attract you, I reckon. You've no use for me, never have had--save once. My love is just an insult to you. You even call it by another name. But I tell you this," his voice deepened with a strong vibration that affected her very strangely, gripping her close attention, "whatever it is, it's a driving force that I can't restrain. It may be an obsession, it may be a curse; but there is no getting away from it. It simply is and it has got to be. And if any man ever dares to come between us--you had better mark what I say--I'll shoot him!"

He spoke with a fatalism that sank deep into her soul. It was no savage threat, but the clear pronouncement of a man who knew exactly what he would do under given circumstances. And she was sure in that moment, absolutely sure, that no dread of consequences would deter him.

She did not answer him; there was nothing to say. But there swept over her another dreadful wave of apprehension such as had caught her in the summer-house an hour before, turning her cold from head to foot. What would he say if he knew what had passed between them--if he knew that their lips had met?

She pictured him selecting his weapon with the deadly determination that had inspired his words, saw the cruel set of the mouth, the ruthless glitter of the savage eyes; and she shivered, shivered uncontrollably, convulsively, as one in the grip of an ague.

He saw the shiver; he could not fail to see it, and his attitude changed a little. A measure of softening came into it, even a tinge of kindliness.

"There, you're overwrought," he said. "It's time you got to bed. Reckon you understand me, so we'll give the matter a rest."

He turned with the words, turned in his sturdy, purposeful fashion and went back to his room.

She did not watch him go, but she listened with straining ears for the closing of the door between them. It did not come to her. There was to be no relief from his presence that night. The door remained half-open.

She sat on motionless for a moment or two, listening in a numb, hopeless fashion to his quiet, methodical movements.

She got up sharply at length and began with quivering speed to undress, not daring to linger lest she should have to meet again the straight, unsparing scrutiny of those terribly bright eyes.

Once only, and that just at the last, did she stay a moment and stoop over a small dark object on the floor--something she fancied she had dropped. But the next instant a wild fit of trembling seized her, she stood up again, feeling giddy, physically sick. The thing on the floor was the charred remnant of the moth that had fluttered impotent wings to escape but so short a time before. It lay there shrivelled, lifeless, the wings that had beaten so madly for freedom shattered and consumed in the flame.

She caught her hand to her throat. What evil Fate had decreed that such things should be? Even the tiniest thread of life could not escape the seething whirlpool of destruction.

Sick at heart, she turned and extinguished the candle that had wrought so cruel a doom. The moonlight shone whitely into the room. She went to the window and pulled down the blind; then trembling, she crept to bed. And the darkness covered her soul.

CHAPTER IX

THE INVITATION

Saltash did not come to her on the following day, and for her own sake she was thankful that he did not. But the problem of her mother's difficulties had begun to vex her sorely. Without communicating with him, she knew that it could not be solved. He had given his promise to help her, yet somehow she did not feel the task before her to be a very easy one. Charlie was so curiously elusive in some respects. It was not always a simple matter to detach him from the whim of the moment. And she had many a time heard him declare that he was not a business man.

She watched the post with nervous anxiety, but nothing came for her. She was relieved to have nothing to conceal, but her mother's anxieties weighed upon her. She hesitated to write to Charlie, but told herself she would have to do so if no word came from him. It was all highly unsatisfactory, and behind her uneasiness there lurked a deep sense of self-reproach, self-distrust. She had suffered him to go too far, too far. It might be difficult to recover a normal footing. It might be he was even now planning some deep game, some master-stroke to follow up the advantage he had gained and win her for his own.

He would not succeed. He could not succeed. She would not so much as allow her thoughts to wander in that direction. She had been mad that night. There had been witchery in the very air. But now she was awake to the crude realities of life, awake and sane and bitterly ashamed of her weakness. He might plot and intrigue, but he could not overthrow her reason a second time. The madness had passed, and it would not return. But the necessity for seeing him remained, and it was an urgent one. She found it hard to wait in inactivity.

The whole day passed without a sign from him, and her patience began to wear thin. Surely, surely he could not fail to keep that solemn promise of his! Surely he could not have forgotten--or be waiting for her to make the first move!

She went for a walk on the down with Capper in the evening. She did not greatly want to go. She was a little afraid of his shrewd insight. But she found that she had no cause for fear. He was full of kindly commonplace topics, and he touched upon no intimate subject whatever. She returned from the walk feeling soothed and refreshed.

They went through the training-field on the way back, and here they came upon Jake, giving Bunny his first riding-lesson. It was good to see the boy's eagerness, his flushed face and shining eyes. He was utterly fearless and even impatient of Jake's care.

They stood awhile and watched, then turned and walked up through the garden.

"He is very happy," Maud said.

Capper smiled. "Jake is an A1 companion for him, Mrs. Bolton. He is thrice lucky to be in the care of a man like Jake."

She agreed without enthusiasm. "Yes, Jake is very kind."

"That's so. And he won't spoil him either. Also," Capper spoke with emphasis, "he'll never learn anything that isn't clean and straight from Jake. Guess he'll make a fine man some day."

"Thanks to you, Doctor!" Maud said.

"No, madam. Thanks to Jake! My part was a very small one. I am just a mechanic; but Jake is a driver of engines--a maker of men."

Maud said nothing, and he changed the subject.

They lingered in the garden till Jake and Bunny joined them; then they separated, Bunny, contrary to custom, attaching himself to Maud, and Jake taking possession of Capper.

Brother and sister ascended the steps into the house and entered the parlour. Bunny was still flushed and excited. Life was full of absorbing interest to him. He had actually been off the leading rein most of the time,--yes, and he had cantered too. Jake said he was to go and have a warm bath and then do his time on the floor. It was a great bore, but he supposed he'd have to. What was Maud looking so sick about? Wasn't she well?

This amiable enquiry was made just as Maud's eyes had fallen upon a letter lying on the table. She almost snatched it up, and then found with a mingling of relief and disappointment that it was not from Saltash.

The crabbed writing was wholly unfamiliar to her. She stood gazing at it while her sudden agitation subsided.

"Who's it from?" said Bunny, coming to peer over her shoulder. "Liverpool post-mark. Why, that's from that queer old codger who was down here in the winter, I'll bet. What on earth does he want?"

"To be sure--Uncle Edward," Maud said.

She opened the letter with Bunny looking on. They read it together.

"MY DEAR GRAND-NIECE,

"I am pleased to acknowledge your letter of the 4th inst., and I write to inform you that I shall be delighted to receive you and your brother on whatever date it may suit you to come. I am glad to hear of the latter's excellent progress. I presume you are capable of keeping him in order. You will of course be prepared to find your own entertainment. Should your worthy husband care to join the party by any chance, I have room for all.

"Your affectionate uncle,

"EDWARD WARREN."

"Holy Christopher!" ejaculated Bunny. "What on earth did you want to write to him for? I'm not going there,--jiggered if I am! And to be tied to your apron-strings too,--not much!"

Maud folded the letter. "I thought you might like to go away with me for a little," she said.

He stared at her. "What! Away from Jake? Not--much!"

She tried to smile. "You're not very flattering, Bunny."

Bunny was still staring. "I can't think what's come to you! Jake's the best chap in the world, and yet you don't seem to get on with him. Say, what the blazes is the matter with you anyway?"

She bit her lip. "I wish you wouldn't be so horribly imitative, Bunny. You never used to talk like that."

Bunny flared up on the instant. "I'll talk as I damn' well please! It's no affair of yours. As to leaving Jake, I'm hanged if I will! You can jolly well go by yourself!"

"And as to behaving like a beastly bounder, you'll apologize for it before you leave this room," a soft voice said.

Both started violently. Jake had come up the steps from the garden. He walked over to the mantelpiece, searched for and found a box of matches; then turned.

"If we were alone, my son, I'd punch your head for you. Maud is quite right. You've no call to talk like a cowboy. Now apologize--quick!"

But Bunny stood sullenly silent.

Maud turned to the door. "Pray don't trouble to make him do that!" she said. "I am accustomed to cowboy manners."

The door closed upon her, and in the same instant Jake's hand closed upon Bunny's shoulder.

"Go after her!" he commanded, "Catch her up, and say you're sorry!"

But Bunny resisted him. "I won't, Jake. I'm not sorry. And I won't go and stay with Uncle Edward. There! If you send me, I'll run away."

Jake shook him. "I'll be mad with you in a minute, my son. Go after her, do you hear? Go after her and make it up before she starts crying!"

"She won't cry!" said Bunny incredulously. "She never does."

Jake swung him round to the door. "Bunny, don't you be a skunk! If you don't go, there'll be trouble--bad trouble."

"But it was her fault!" protested Bunny, stung to remonstrance. "She set on to me first."

"I don't care whose fault it was," said Jake. "You're to go."

Bunny writhed in his hold. "You're beastly unfair, Jake. If I do go, I shan't apologize."

"You won't?" said Jake.

"No, I won't!" There was a faint note of apprehension in Bunny's voice, notwithstanding its defiance. He stood up to Jake, but his eyelids quivered ever so slightly. His hands opened and shut in the old nervous fashion.

Jake was holding him fast. "Think it over!" he said. "Think it over!"

His voice was steady, his grip inflexible. His eyes never left the boy's hot face. They held a stern warning that could not be ignored.

Bunny straightened himself to meet it. "I suppose you'll thrash me," he said. "Well,--you must, that's all."

A faint gleam crossed Jake's face. It was hardly a smile, and was gone on the instant. "No, I shan't thrash you," he said. "Now, will you go?"

And Bunny capitulated, struck his colours unconditionally, flung his arms round his brother-in-law's shoulders. "All right, Jake. I'll go, old man. I'll go. Don't look so confoundedly grim!"

Jake held him back with one hand on his rough dark head. "Be off with you, boy! I'll see you later--maybe when you're in bed. Go now!"

He smiled upon Bunny, for there were tears in the boy's eyes, patted him on the back, and turned to go as he had entered.

Ten seconds later Bunny was beating a rousing tattoo on his sister's door. "Say, Maud, let me in--quick--quick!"

He wriggled at the handle, for the door was locked, and, meeting with no response, beat again.

"Maud, I say, let me in! I've come to say I'm sorry. Don't be waxy, old girl! Open the door!"

There came a lagging footstep. The key turned, Bunny burst into the room headlong.

"You're not crying, are you? I knew you weren't. There! It's all right, isn't it? What makes you so touchy, nowadays? You never used to be."

Her arms held him tightly in a mute embrace. She kissed him with a yearning tenderness.

Bunny drew back and looked at her with sudden, close attention. "Maud, what's the matter? Tell me what's the matter!"

She was smiling, a strangely drawn smile. Not for the first time he became conscious of the veil of reserve that hung between them. He strove with it indignantly, seeking to tear it aside.

"Maud, tell me, I say! You would have told me in the old days."

She caught back an involuntary sigh. "You were older then, Bunny."

"I wasn't!" he declared. "What rot!"

"Ah well," she said gently, "things were different in those days."

And suddenly there came to Bunny--Bunny who had lain and watched life so long that his eyes had grown tired with watching--one of the old shrewd flashes of enlightenment, solving the mystery.

He held her very tightly, his face burning red. "Say, Maud--old girl, is it--is it--I know what it is!"

"Don't, Bunny!" she whispered inarticulately.

He kissed her with the warmth of renewed understanding. "That's why Jake's so beastly worried about you. Poor old boy! He's getting as lean as Chops. Have you noticed?"

She had not. They sat down together on an ottoman near the window, Bunny's arm protectingly around her.

"He sent me up after you in such a hurry because he was afraid you were going to cry," he went on. "He was furious with me for vexing you. Poor old Jake!"

A curious little pang of resentment went through her. "You seem to think he is very much to be pitied," she said.

"I do," said Bunny instantly. "He looks so down in the mouth nowadays. I saw it directly I came home. He's got a sort of hurt look at the back of his eyes, as if he wasn't getting on with himself. I sometimes wish you'd be a bit kinder to him, Maud. I'm sure he mopes."

This was a point of view so new to Maud that she hardly knew how to regard it. Somehow it had never occurred to her that Jake could take her attitude to heart, Jake who trampled down all rebellion with so merciless a heel. She had always told herself that Jake had all he really wanted. That he was aware of any need of the spirit she had never seriously believed. Bunny's assertion brought to mind Mrs. Wright's kindly assurance that there was a whole lot of reserve in Jake; and for the first time the old woman's words recurred to her. "He won't show you his heart so long as he thinks you've no use for it." Was there a measure of truth in those words? She wondered. She wondered.

"Guess I must be going," said Bunny. "I've got to have a bath. You might turn on the water for me like a brick while I go and undress."

There was subtle tact in the suggestion. Bunny knew--none better--that to wait upon him was his sister's dearest privilege, and he judged by her sad face that it was time to change her thoughts.

When he arrived in the bath-room a few minutes later, he found everything put ready for his comfort, and Maud waiting to turn off the water at his command. He was attired in a large bath towel which he held artistically draped about his person. He thrust a bare, warm arm about her neck.

"Thanks, old girl. You're jolly decent to me! I don't know how I managed to be such a beast. Guess my temper must have got warped in its youth. By the way, there's a letter for you from Charlie on my dressing-table. He told me to give it to you when we were alone. I suppose it's something to do with the mother's affairs."

"Oh, perhaps," Maud said; and she hoped he did not note her sudden start or the quick flushing of her face. "When did you see him?"

"He came up the garden way this evening just before I went riding with Jake. You were out with Dr. Capper. He was in rather a decent mood," said Bunny. "He gave me half a sovereign. Not a bad sort--Charlie."

He began to emerge from the enveloping towel, and Maud turned to go.

"You can stay if you like," said Bunny graciously. "I've no wish to make a stranger of you."

But she smiled and declined the invitation. "You do better without me now," she said.

And as the boy's small thin figure slipped down into the bath, she went out and crossed the passage swiftly to his room.

The letter from Charlie was not on his table, but tossed carelessly on the bed with his clothes. She shivered at the thought that Jake, and not she, might have found it there. The purple crest stood out conspicuous on the white envelope--a fox's head with the motto: Sans vertu, underneath. She wondered what wild ancestor of his had designed the cynical device.

Her hands were trembling as she tore open the flap. She was impatient, yet half-afraid. Her heart throbbed hard at sight of the dashing scrawl once so familiar and so dear.

"Ma belle reine des roses;"--her heart throbbed a little faster. The old sweet name, how it brought back to her those free, happy days of her youth! How she marvelled now at the high, girlish pride that had sent him away. How cruel had been the cost of that same pride!

She read on. It was a characteristic epistle, half-mocking, half-tender, throughout. Would she meet him again? But of course she would! Had she not said that he could serve her? But they would not risk another interruption. Would she be going to the Graydown races? If not, he would manage to return early and come to her by the garden way. They would thus be sure of at least half an hour together before anyone else got back. He seemed confident that she would not refuse, and she knew, even as she read, that she could not. She must see him somehow. She must somehow get back to normal relations with him. She could not sacrifice his friendship to that one night's madness. Besides, there was her mother.

A trampling of hoofs in the yard below drew her to the window. She looked forth.

It was the Albatross being led out of his stable for the evening canter.

Dick Stevens held the bridle. He wore a heavy, glowering look. She remembered--and the memory seemed to scorch her--that morning after her wedding-day when she had stood and listened in petrified horror to Jake pouring forth terrible invective upon the lad's head.

He was standing by now, watching with a frown, as though the boy's movements displeased him; and even as she looked he went forward and took the bridle into his own hand.

Stevens stood aside sullenly, while he readjusted the bit with set lips. The Albatross nozzled against him, and after a few moments Jake's hand went to his pocket and brought forth a piece of sugar.

Then, while the animal munched it, he turned round upon the sulky stable-boy and spoke.

"If any harm comes to him through any damn' carelessness of yours, I warn you,--and I'm a man of my word--I'll leather you to a jelly, if it costs me fifty pounds."

His words were quiet, but absolutely distinct. His right hand was hard gripped on his riding-whip.

Stevens slunk back a step, not speaking, his face crimson and defiant.

Maud at the upper window clasped her hands suddenly and very tightly upon the letter they held. Yes, he was a man of his word. And what if he kept that other promise he had made to her? Life alone on a ranch with Jake! Her whole being rose in revolt at the thought. She turned away with a shudder.

CHAPTER X

THE MISTAKE

The day fixed for the race for the Burchester Cup was inclined to be showery. Jake was up at an early hour, and when he was gone Maud rose also. But she felt too languid to bestir herself very greatly. She sat by the open window, breathing the pure morning air, and wondering, wondering, what the day would bring forth.

Since the receipt of Saltash's letter, she had been making up her mind. That she must see him alone that day was inevitable, but she had formed a strong determination that for the future she would put bounds to their intercourse. It could but lead in the one hopeless direction. Moreover, open friendship between them had become, owing to Jake's prohibition, impossible.

She did not blame Saltash for what had happened, but bitterly she blamed herself. She had been carried away by the moment's madness. Her feet had slipped. But the determination to retrace that false step was strong within her. For Charlie's sake, as well as for her own, she knew that they must not go on. With fatal clearness she realized that it was the downward path leading to destruction. It had never attracted her before her marriage, that downward path. The care of Bunny had absorbed her life. But now that her life was empty of all but the bondage she hated, she faced the fact that her resolution had begun to waver. She could no longer trust herself to stand firm.

Sitting there, drinking in the refreshing coolness of the rain-washed air, feeling the sweet morning chill all about her, something of that innate purity of hers seemed to revive. Some of the bitterness went from her soul. She was very, very tired; but after long meditation she had begun to see her way more clearly. Perhaps dimly the future had begun to draw her. Yes, her life was empty now. But in a little while--a little while-- A deep, deep breath escaped her. The memory of Mrs. Wright and her confident words of wisdom came to her. Her life would not be always a dreary wandering in a desert land. Prisoner she might be, but even so, the flowers might bloom around her, within her reach.

A little tremor went through her. Ah yes, it might be there were compensations in store, even for her. Her life would not be always empty.

A kind of waking dream came upon her. It was as though a soothing hand had been laid upon her, stilling her wild rebellion, giving her hope. The kaleidoscope of life was changing every day. Why should she despair?

When she descended to breakfast, she was calmer, more at peace with herself, than she had been for long.

She found Capper waiting alone. He gave her his quick, keen look, but characteristically he made no comment upon what he saw.

"I am wondering how I shall catch the boat-train to-night," he said.

"Must you do so?" she asked.

He nodded vigorously. "Indeed I must. I have trespassed upon your hospitality quite long enough. And there is work waiting across the Atlantic that only Maurice Capper can do."

She smiled at him. "How indefatigable you are! Won't it wait a little longer?"

"Not a day!" declared Capper.

And neither of them dreamed that that same work would have to wait many days ere Maurice Capper was at liberty to handle it.

They sat down alone to breakfast. Jake and Bunny had had their meal long before.

"There's no holding the boy this morning," Capper observed. "It will be a good thing now when you can get him off to school, Mrs. Bolton. He'll grow quicker there than anywhere."

Maud looked up quickly. "You think so?"

He smiled. "I have told Jake so. He, I believe, is waiting till these all-absorbing races are over to consult you on the subject."

Maud's eyes fell. "He won't do that," she said, in a low voice. "He and Bunny will settle it between them, and I shall be told afterwards."

"That so?" said Capper. "Then, if I may take the liberty to advise you, madam, I should consult them first."

She shook her head in silence. How could she even begin to tell Capper of the utter lack of sympathy between herself and Jake?

"And you really think he is fit to go to school, and fend for himself?" she asked, after a moment.

"Do him all the good in the world," said Capper. He added kindly: "Guess you'll miss him some, my dear; but believe me you won't be sorry when you see what it does for him."

"Oh no, I shall never be sorry on his account," she said.

And there the subject ended, but before she left the breakfast table she found an opportunity to acquaint him with her decision to remain at home that day.

He expressed regret but not surprise. "You are wise not to overtire yourself," he said.

She became aware again of the green eyes surveying her for a moment, and coloured. "I--am not sleeping very well," she said, with an effort.

He nodded as one who fully understood. "Take things easily!" he said. "Don't fret over 'em! Let the world go by!"

She got up, moved by an impulse curiously insistent. "Dr. Capper," she said, "it--it's rather a difficult world, isn't it?"

Her voice had a quiver of wistfulness in it. He reached out a hand at once that sought and held hers. "My dear Mrs. Bolton," he said, "we live too hard--all of us. That's nine-tenths of the trouble. It's because we won't trust the Hand on the helm. We're all so mighty anxious to do our own steering, and we don't know a thing about it."

The hold of the thin yellow fingers was full of kindly comfort. There was nothing disconcerting in the shrewd green eyes that looked into hers.

"I think you'll be happier presently, you know," he said. "It seems to me that two people I'm mighty fond of have got wandering off their bearings in the wilderness. They'll find each other presently and then, I guess, that same wilderness will blossom into a garden and they'll settle down in comfort and enjoy themselves."

He pressed her hand, and released it, making it evident that he had no intention of pursuing the matter further without definite encouragement. And Maud gave him none. Something in her shrank from doing so. He was Jake's friend before he was hers.

The day seemed very long. It was oppressive also, gleams of sunshine alternating with occasional heavy thunder showers.

She was lying in a hammock-chair under the trees in the orchard with Chops at her feet when Jake came striding through at the last moment to find her.

"Capper tells me you don't feel up to coming," he said.

She barely glanced up from the book in her lap, she did not want to meet his eyes. "I didn't tell him so," she said.

"But it is so?" insisted Jake.

"I have decided not to come, certainly," she said, feeling her heart jerk apprehensively as she made the statement.

He stood a moment in silence, then bent unexpectedly, took her by the chin, and turned her face up to his own. It was flooded with scarlet on the instant; her eyes flinched away from his.

He held her so for several seconds, looking at her, mercilessly watching that agonizing blush, till it faded under his eyes, leaving her white to the lips. Then, without another word, he let her go.

She heard the jingle of his spurs as he went away, and for a long time after she lay as he had left her, too unnerved to move. What could he know? How much did he suspect? She felt cold to the very heart of her, stricken and sick with fear. He had not so much as kissed her in his brutal, domineering way, and that fact disquieted her more than any other. Though she hated the touch of his lips she would have welcomed it thankfully in that hour of sickening apprehension only to feel reassured and safe.

The patter of rain roused her to activity and drove her back to the house, in time to meet Mrs. Lovelace hastening forth with an umbrella to her rescue.

"You shouldn't be sitting out there, ma'am, on a day like this," the old woman said. "And, lawk-a-massy, you do look bad!"

Maud tried to smile. "I am not bad, Mrs. Lovelace. It's only the heat."

Mrs. Lovelace pursed her lips and looked severely incredulous. "You'd best lie down, ma'am," she said. "I'll bring your lunch immediately."

She bustled away, and Maud sank on the couch in the parlour and strove to compose herself. But she could not with that awful fear coiled like a snake about her heart. A terrible restlessness possessed her. It was impossible to remain still.

If she could only send a message to Charlie, warning him not to come! But that was impossible. She knew that no message could reach him now. He would have to come, and Jake would know of it. Manoeuvre as she might, those lynx-eyes would wrest from her the secret. She knew herself powerless to withstand them.

She made scarcely any pretence to eat the luncheon that Mrs. Lovelace brought her. She had never before been in such a ferment of disquietude. Those few awful moments of Jake's silent scrutiny had shaken her to the very foundations of her being. She felt that he had ruthlessly forced his way past her defences and looked upon her naked soul. And she realized that he had spoken the truth when he had said that she could not deceive him. He could tear her reserve from her like a garment and expose her most secret thoughts.

She spent most of the afternoon in pacing to and fro, for she could not rest. Her feet were soaked with the drenched orchard grass, but she did not know it. Her limbs were strung to a feverish activity. There were times when she thought she would go mad.

The hours crawled by leaden-footed. She did not know in the least when Charlie would come, but she began to expect him long before he could possibly arrive, and the waiting became a torment that chafed her intolerably. If he would only come soon--so that she might make her petition and let him go!

Back and forth, back and forth, she wandered, conscious sometimes of a dreadful, physical sinking, but for the most part too torn with anxiety to be aware of anything else. And Chops paced with her in mute sympathy with her distress.

The afternoon was beginning to wane towards evening when Mrs. Lovelace came forth once more in search of her--Mrs. Lovelace with prim, set lips, sternly disapproving.

"You'll make yourself bad if you go on, ma'am," she said. "And if you please, Mrs. Wright is here, and I'm laying the cloth for tea."

"Mrs. Wright!" Maud looked at her with dazed eyes, bringing her thoughts back as it were from afar.

"There she is!" said Mrs. Lovelace.

And even as she spoke Maud caught sight of the comfortable, portly figure standing on the steps.

She gave a gasp that was almost a cry, and began to hasten towards her.

Mrs. Wright on her part bustled down to meet her. "Don't hurry, my dear, don't! I've only just come. Why, how tired and white you look! There! Run along, Sarah, and get the tea, like a good soul! I'll take care of Mrs. Bolton."

Her arm was already around Maud's waist; she looked up at her with round eyes full of kindly concern.

Maud bent to kiss her. "How--good of you to come!" she said.

She herself was divided between relief and dismay; but the relief predominated. It would not matter now if Charlie came. She would have to write to him on her mother's behalf. It was the only way. She believed she could evade Jake's vigilance with a letter--so long as Charlie did not write to her. The anguish through which she had passed had made her realize that she must not, could not, take such a risk again.

She clung to Mrs. Wright as to a deliverer. "Thank you for coming!" she said.

Mrs. Wright had begun to steer sturdily for the house. "Lor' bless you, dear, I'm as pleased as anything to come," she said. "Jake dropped in this morning casual-like, and happened to pass the remark as they was all going to the races but you. So I sent down to Tom's young lady to be so kind as to come and mind the shop for me this afternoon, and after dinner I dressed myself and came along to keep you company. I could have got here an hour ago, but I thought as you'd be resting, and I knew as Sarah would be busy."

So it was Jake's doing! He had taken this step to circumvent her. Maud was conscious of a throb of anger against him, but her visitor's guileless chatter made her stifle it. Mrs. Wright was so obviously unsuspecting.

They ascended the steps together, Mrs. Wright's arm stoutly assisting her. Then in the parlour she turned and looked at Maud.

"If I was you, my dearie, I should lie right down and have a rest. And I'll give you a drop of brandy in your tea."

She sank upon the sofa without protest. The reaction from those hours of feverish suspense was upon her. She felt exhausted in mind and body.

Mrs. Wright attended upon her with the utmost kindness. She did not talk a great deal, for which forbearance Maud was mutely thankful. She was so unutterably tired, too tired even to protest against that drop of brandy in her tea upon which Mrs. Wright insisted.

Another hour went by, but there was no sign of Saltash's coming. The evening was turning dark and wet. Maud lay on her sofa, sometimes dozing, sometimes talking abstractedly to her visitor. For Mrs. Wright was determined to remain till Jake returned, and briskly said so. Maud did not want to combat the decision. She was glad to have her there. It seemed that Charlie was not coming after all. Something had detained him. Her anxiety had spent itself, but she felt terribly weak. The comfort of the old woman's tender care was too great to refuse.

She scarcely knew how the time went, so overpowering was the languor that possessed her. The rainy sky brought down an early dusk long before the setting of the sun. A brooding stillness hung upon all things through which the patter of the rain sounded with unvarying monotony.

"Deary me! They will get wet," sighed Mrs. Wright.

Slowly the heavy clouds gathered and hung! Slowly the darkness deepened.

Suddenly Maud raised herself, sat up, tensely listened. "What is that?" she said.

Mrs. Wright looked at her. "I hear nothing but the rain, dear."

Maud broke in upon her impatiently. "Yes, that--that--that! Don't you hear? What is it? O God, what is it?"

Her voice rose wildly. In a moment she had sprung from her couch and was standing with caught breath, listening.

"My dearie, it's only the rain," said Mrs. Wright soothingly. "Don't let yourself get jumpy! There's nothing there."

But Maud paid no attention to her. With a movement incredibly swift she reached the door and threw it open.

Then indeed Mrs. Wright heard sounds, muffled but undeniable, of some commotion in the stable-yard. "I expect they've just got home, dear," she said. "And very wet they'll be. Hadn't you better tell Sarah to get a nice hot brew of tea ready for 'em? Little Sir Brian will be sure to want his tea."

But the rush of Maud's feet along the oaken passage was her only answer. The girl went like the wind, urged by the most awful fear she had ever known.

The front door was open. Bunny was on the step. But she brushed past him without so much as seeing him, tearing forth bare-headed, ashen-faced, into the rain.

For there in the murky twilight, terrible as a lion newly roused, stood Jake, gripping by the collar a struggling, writhing figure, the while he administered to it as sound a horse-whipping as his great strength could accomplish. His right arm moved slowly, with a deliberate regularity unspeakably horrible to behold. She had a glimpse--only a glimpse--of his face, and the savage cruelty of it was such that it seemed no longer human. Of his victim she saw very little, but of his identity not the smallest doubt existed in her mind; and as the sound of those awful blows reached her, the last shred of her endurance was torn away. She shrieked and shrieked again as she ran.

Those shrieks reached Jake as the cry of its mate in distress might reach an animal intent upon its prey. He flung the prey from him on the instant and wheeled. He met her a full ten yards from the spot, just as her feet slipped on the wet stones of the yard. He caught her--she almost fell against him--and held her hard in his arms.

She was sobbing terribly, utterly unstrung, hysterical. She struggled for speech, but the wild sounds that left her lips were wholly unintelligible. She struggled to free herself, but her strength was gone. In the end, her knees suddenly gave way under her. She collapsed with a gasping cry. And Jake, stooping, raised her, and bore her in senseless out of the drenching rain.

CHAPTER XI

THE REASON

"You've only yourself to thank," said Capper. He tugged irritably at his pointed yellow beard. His eyes were moody under brows that frowned. "You might have known what to expect if you had an ounce of sense."

"Guess I always was an all-fired fool," said Jake.

The great doctor looked down at him from his post on the hearth, and his eyes softened a little. For Jake's dejection was very thorough. He sat as it were in dust and ashes.

"Not always, my son," he said. "But I guess you've surpassed yourself on this occasion. Well, it's done. She may get over it, but she won't love you any the better for it. It'll be up to you to make a fresh start presently."

Jake was silent. He was not smoking. He sat with bent head and lowered eyes.

Capper contemplated him awhile, till at length a faint glint of humour began to shine in his green eyes. He moved, and laid a long, wiry hand upon Jake's shoulder.

"Say, Jake!" he said. "Don't take it too hard, man! Let it be a lesson to you, that's all. And the next time you want to whip a stable-boy, do it on the quiet, and there'll be no misunderstandings. Guess you'll have to sing small for a bit, but it's not a hanging matter. She'll forgive you by and by."

"Why should she?" Jake did not move his head or respond in any way to the friendly touch.

"Because she's that sort." Capper spoke with stout conviction. "She won't hold out against you when she sees you're sorry. Don't be afraid to tell her so, Jake! Don't hide your soul!"

Jake raised his head suddenly, looking full up at Capper with eyes that glowed red and sombre. "You don't quite grasp the situation, Doc," he said. "She won't be sorry for this when she comes to herself. She never wanted to bear a child of mine. She loathes the very ground I walk on. She'd do most anything--most anything--to get quit of me. No, I reckon she won't be sorry any. She'll be--sort of--glad!"

"Oh, shucks!" Capper's hand suddenly smote him hard. "You don't know women. I tell you, you don't know 'em!"

"I know one!" Jake's voice was deadly calm. His eyes shone like a still, hot fire. "I thought I could win her, though the odds were dead against me. I staked all on the chance--the hundredth chance--and it's gone. I've lost. There's no sense in pretending otherwise. Now that this has happened I shan't hold her any longer, unless it's by brute force; and I reckon there's more lost than gained that way. And yet I know--I know--" his voice suddenly took a deeper note--"that where I've failed, no other man has ever yet succeeded. No one else has ever got to the heart of her. That I know."

He spoke with grim force, as though challenging incredulity on Capper's part, but Capper made no attempt to contradict him. He even nodded as if he held the same opinion.

"Then I guess it's up to you to find the way," he said. "There's a better way for all of us than brute force, my son. There is a power that all the violence in the world can't beat. It's greater than all the devils. And you'll win out--you'll win out--on the strength of it."

He paused. Jake's eyes had kindled a little. He set his hands on the arms of his chair as though about to rise.

"You get me?" Capper asked.

A faint smile came over his face. "You speak as one who knows," he said.

"I do know." Capper's voice was very emphatic. "It's not an easy world to live in. It's a mighty difficult one. But we've been given a compass to steer by--a Divine compass, Jake, my lad. Guess it's our own fault in the main if we fail to get there."

He waited. The light was gradually growing in Jake's eyes. He had a speculative, half-doubtful look.

"And yet you advised me to jump the hedge," he said.

Capper smiled somewhat ruefully. "I didn't tell you to burst your way through, did I?" he said. "You didn't take it the right way, my son. You blundered, and it's left a nasty breach. It's not beyond repair, mind you. But it'll take some patience and some faith before it's all filled up. Set to work on it right now! You've got the materials. Use 'em--all you know! Show her what Love--real Love--is worth! She's a woman. She'll soon understand."

Jake got to his feet with the quiet, purposeful movement of a man who has work before him. He gripped Capper's hand for a moment, and looked him straight in the face.

"I reckon you're right, sir," he said, speaking rather heavily. "I've made a damn' muddle of the whole show. I was nearer to her--several lengths nearer--in the old days when we were just friends--just friends--" his voice quivered slightly--"than I am now. Well, I reckon I must get back to the old footing. We'll be--just friends--again."

He turned from Capper with the words, went to the mantelpiece and took up his pipe.

The doctor watched him for awhile silently. There was a greatness about the man's simplicity that commanded his respect. There was even an element of the superb in it.

"I take off my hat, to you, Jake," he said at length "You're a white man."

Jake's head was bent over his pipe. He made a brief, contemptuous sound, and rammed it into his mouth. "We don't all think alike," he said. "Well, I must be going anyway. So long, Doc!"

"Where are you off to?" Capper asked.

He made a gesture as of one who contemplates an unpleasant task. "I must go up to the Castle. I said I would. I've got to tell Lord Saltash how the Albatross failed this afternoon."

"But, man, he knows!" exclaimed Capper. "He was there!"

Jake turned round. His pipe was alight. He puffed at it grimly. "Maybe he does. But it's my duty to tell him all the same. It may interest him also to hear that Stevens won't be fit for the saddle again for a week or two. I'd have marked the young blackguard for life if I hadn't been stopped." His brows suddenly met fiercely. "I'd have got out of him what he did it for too--though I guess I know. When a hot favourite like the Albatross gets left behind like that there's always a reason--a damn' substantial reason--at the bottom of it. Oh, it's a foul business," he said bitterly. "I ought to have scratched sooner than run the chance of having him pulled. I never trusted Stevens--never. I'll see him drawn and quartered before he ever rides another horse of mine!"

"But you've no evidence?" suggested Capper.

"I've the evidence of my own eyes," said Jake bluntly. "And there'll be further evidence presently, or I'm a nigger."

"What do you mean? He'll never own it."

"No." Jake spoke with a savage disdain. "He won't have the spunk for that. And he won't have the spunk either to take out a summons for assault. He'll just take it all lying down. I know. I know."

He swung round on his heel to go, went as far as the door, then suddenly wheeled and came back.

"Say, Capper!" he said, and all the savagery was gone from his voice; it held a note of pleading. "She'll get over it, sure?"

Capper's yellow face was full of kindness. He reached forth a hand that gripped hard. "Please God she'll live to be the mother of your children yet, Jake!" he said.

Jake drew a sharp breath. "God knows I don't want her--just for that," he said, with husky vehemence.

And then abruptly, as if ashamed, he pulled his hand free and departed.

Capper's fingers sought his beard as the door closed. "You're learning, Jake," he said. "You're learning. Wonder how soon she'll begin to find out that there's another man in the place where her husband used to be!"

He coiled himself down into a chair, bending and cracking his long fingers with meditative zest. But the frown remained between his brows. If Capper the man was satisfied, Capper the doctor was very much the reverse. He was not dismayed, but he was anxious, more anxious than he deemed it necessary for anyone to know.

"She'll pull through," he muttered to himself once. And again: "She must pull through."

But in his heart he knew that it was more than possible that his patient's life might ebb out on the bitter tide of disappointment and misery even when the worst danger seemed to be over. She was so lonely in her trouble, so piteously bereft of all desire or incentive to live.

Up in the room above, Maud lay, white and still, her dark hair all about her, her eyes closed, an aloofness that was almost like the shadow of Death wrapping her round.

Mrs. Wright sat by her side, very alert and watchful. It was growing late, but she had long ago signified her intention of remaining for the night. Very practical and sure of herself was Mrs. Wright. She and Dr. Capper were already firm allies.

The night was close, and the windows were flung wide. The door into the adjoining room was wide open also, and a faint current of air eddied about the room, stirring now and again the chintz hangings of the old-fashioned bed, rustling occasionally the white muslin curtains at the window. The wash of the sea came up vaguely from the dark distance. It sounded like the far splashing of mighty oars.

Near at hand, down in the dim garden there came sometimes the mysterious movements of some small creature creeping stealthily through the bushes, and once or twice down in the orchard an owl hooted its weird, half-human signal.

Mrs. Wright did not like the voice of the owl. She shivered whenever she heard it; but Maud lay as one oblivious of all things, drifting, drifting, on a great lonely sea on which no sun ever rose or star shone.

Someone came into the adjoining room and stood in the open doorway. Mrs. Wright looked swiftly round.

Jake's eyes met hers, he made a brief sign for silence. Then, without sound, he crept in and stood against the bed-curtain, looking down mutely at his wife's still face.

Several seconds of complete silence followed, then, quite suddenly, as though someone had called her, she opened her eyes wide and turned her head.

He drew back behind the curtain on the instant ere she could catch sight of him, standing motionless as a statue, not seeming so much as to breathe.

A troubled frown gathered on Maud's face; she made a restless movement.

At once Mrs. Wright bent to her from the other side of the bed. "What is it, my dearie? You're not in pain?"

Maud was panting a little. She tried to raise herself, but was gently checked by a motherly hand. She took and held it with trembling fingers.

"Mrs. Wright,--please--you won't go!" she begged.

"Surely not, my dear." Stoutly Mrs. Wright made answer. "I'm going to take care of you all night long."

But Maud was not wholly reassured. She clung faster to the plump, soothing hand. "If Jake comes in, he--he will want to send you away. Don't let him, Mrs. Wright! I--I can't be alone with Jake to-night."

She was becoming agitated, but Mrs. Wright gently hushed her. "You shan't be, dearest. Jake wants me to be with you to-night. He is very unhappy about you, is poor Jake. Dear knows you needn't be afraid of him."

"Oh, how can I help it after what he did to Charlie? Did you see? Did you see? Is Charlie very badly hurt?"

"Charlie?" questioned Mrs. Wright.

"Charlie Burchester--Lord Saltash. Didn't you see what--what Jake did to him? Oh, it was terrible--terrible!" A great shudder shook her at the remembrance of what she had seen.

"My dear! My dear!" Mrs. Wright leaned to her, smoothing her pillow. "Why, what a mistake to be sure! And to think you've put yourself out like this all for nothing! Dear, dear, dear, to be sure! That wasn't Lord Saltash, darling. Whatever made you think it was? It was just one of them pesky stable-boys as he was giving a jacketing to; and richly he deserved it, I'll be bound."

"Oh, Mrs. Wright!" Maud's voice was suddenly eager. "Are you sure? Are you sure?"

Her dark eyes, wide and beseeching, were raised in earnest questioning to her old friend's kindly face. She clung to the sustaining hand.