[6]Rotten."Oh! Bramham's a good fellow," said Carson, smiling at this new version of a tale of highway-robbery. "I don't think he could have behaved very badly.""Good fellows and bad fellows are all just the same when they're tired of you," said Miss Cornell feelingly; adding, with great hauteur: "Not that I ever allowed any man to get tired ofme, Sir Evelyn, I assure you. There's not a single fellow in Africa can say athingabout me."This was very impressive, but Carson did not exactly know what it might mean. He only knew that he was growing a little weary."And then there was a girl that I befriended. I took her in when she came to my house without a rag to her back, or a shoe to her foot, one night—fed her, clothed her, and treated her like my own sister—or would have done if she hadn't been such a cold-blooded, standoffishslang.[7]Yet I can assureyou, Sir Evelyn, that when I was on the Durban Race-course three weeks ago, with twoperfect gentlemenfrom the Rand, she sat quite close to me in a carriage with that Mrs. Portal, and though I smiled and bowed to hertwice, she deliberately looked right through me.... I might have been a bit of rubbish lying in the street...."[7]Snake.Something in this narrative dimly, though unpleasantly, interested Carson. He forgot his weariness for the moment and looked at the woman intently."Yes ... what do you think of that? Deliberatelycutme ... me who had been her friend in need. I supposed it was because she had managed to get taken up by a big-pot like Mrs. Portal.... I said so to one of my friends—such a nice boy—you may know him—Wolfie Isaacs, of the firm of Isaacs and Jacobs. But after he'd been away talking to some other men, he came back and told me thatshewas the great authoress who wrote all the cracked books and poems about Africa, and that everyone was raving about her. He said I must have made a mistake when I thought I knew her! What do you think ofthat? The girl I had taken in without any shoes to her feet!... and, oh my! couldn't I tell a tale to her swell friend Mrs. Portal if I—" Something in the steely expression of the face opposite suddenly arrested her flow of eloquence."Do you mind telling me whom you are talking about?" said Carson quietly."Certainly—I'm delighted to. It is only fair that everybody should know what aslangthat girl is, to cutmelike that, who had taken her in without asking a single question about where she came from.... Och! but I can tell you I found out afterwards, Sir Evelyn ... she's as bad as she can be, that Rosalind Chard——"Carson's tanned skin had turned an ashy-yellow shade, which was neither becoming nor artistic."Woman—" he said in a low, hoarse voice, scarcely audible; but his eyes said a great deal more than his lips; and Miss Cornell, at first surprised, became angrily red."Och! don't youwomanme!" she cried, bridling. "Soyou'rea friend of hers, too, I suppose! She's got very grand all at once!... but I wonder if she told you she used to be constantly in a house on the Berea with Luce Abinger. That it was fromhishouse she came that night I took her in! MyboyZambani saw her come through the gap in the hedge that led from Abinger's garden. Ha! ha! and she pretending to be such a saint all the time! Ask Mr. Bramham! He knows all about it."Carson took it like a blow between the eyes. If he had not been sitting, he would have reeled. As it was, he leaned against the back of the seat and closed his eyes for a moment, though the lids scorched like flame. But the woman mistook his attitude for calm unbelief. She thought he shut his eyes because he was pretending to be bored, and she was furious."And she pretending to be such a saint all the time," she repeated. "A saint in the company of Luce Abinger!" she laughed coarsely.Carson's eyes were still closed. He was considering—aswell as fury, and surprise, and misery, and four neat brandies become suddenly potent would let him.Would this woman dare bade up her vile statement with Bramham's name, unless—?... but there must be some explanation. She and Abinger! Oh, God!no!Bram could explain ... she could explain ... if she could not, he would kill her ... he would take her by that long, fair throat——At that the coldness and calmness of moonlight fell upon him like a pall; his brain cleared; he reflected on the inflamed, furious face opposite him, surveying it deliberately, insultingly, with stony, arrogant eyes. Slowly his handsome lips took on a curve of incomparable insolence and contempt—a look no woman could ever forgive. In that moment Sophie Cornell knew what she was. The colour left her face, and her lips and tongue went dry; She had no words.His voice was almost gentle."It would be scarcely fair to expect a woman of your" (he paused) "inducements—to understand that Miss Chard's reasons for——""No," she sneered, hissing like a cobra. "No—of course not—asaintlike that! But I know well enough what sort of a man Luce Abinger is—and so do you. His name isn't spelt L-o-o-s-e for nothing."That arrow quivered in Carson, but he gave no sign, going on deliberately:"—For knowing Mr. Abinger might be different to your reasons—or shall we say inducements?"She hated him with her eyes."You would scarcely credit, perhaps, but thereareother things of interest in the world besides—inducements. And that the side of Mr. Abinger's character which appears to be so well known to you, is one that he reserves specially for ladies of your—distractions."He smiled and added:"I'm afraid you hardly realise how distracting you are. Here am I, for instance, with a number of pressing matters waiting for my attention"—he put his hand into the breastpocket of his coat and brought out a bundle of letters and papers—"neglecting them to indulge in a fascinated contemplation of you. But if you will be good enough to release me——"Miss Cornell damped her lips with her tongue."I hate Rosalind Chard," she said hoarsely, "but I am sorry for her, all the same, if she gets you. I think you are the worst devil I've ever met in my life. Talk about the three bad men! Abinger and Charlie Bramham are angels compared to you.""I will let 'Charlie' know of your favourable opinion of him—he will be flattered. Pray excuse me!" He looked apologetically at the papers in his hand."Oh! go to hell!" she screamed. Carson bowed, and with that insolent smile still lingering on his lips, gave his attention to his letters.At Inchanga he stepped out of the carriage and looked about him with careless interest, lighted a cigarette, and presently lounged down the platform. Incidentally he went into the telegraph-office and sent off a wire, requesting Bramham to meet him at the station or be at home waiting for him. When he came out of the little office he was still smoking placidly, but the writing on the telegraph-form resembled the writing of a drunken or palsied man.On his return to the carriage he found that Miss Cornell had been good enough to remove her distracting presence to some other part of the train.CHAPTER XXXIIIIT was the night of the Club ball, the first and chief event of the Durban season, and all the fashionable world was busily pranking itself for the occasion.Bramham had dressed early, for he had been elected by Mrs. Portal to be one of the wild-geese who were to escort her house-party to the Town Hall. Just as he was choosing some cigars for the night at the dining-room table, Carson's telegram arrived. He whistled, meditating upon it for a while."Well, this Carson!" he called out to Abinger, who was in a neighbouring room, also arraying himself for the festival. "Wants me to meet him at the station, I thank you!""Meet him! What for? He ought to get a maid!""Well, I can't do it, anyway," said Bramham, and sitting down, hastily scribbled a note, saying that he could not possibly wait on account of his engagement with Mrs. Portal, but suggesting that Carson, on arrival, should dress and come down to the Town Hall. He left this note on the table, with instructions to theboysto see that Carson got it as soon as he arrived; then jumping into his carriage, he set off for the Portals' house.On his way up he had an impulse to call at the Caprons', to see what arrangements Mrs. Capron had made for going to the ball. He was aware that Nick had been away for a week, and was not in the way of returning yet a while. A man called Lessing had pitched a camp outbeyond Inanda, to try some experiments in coursing with six pedigree dogs he had imported from home, and several other men had joined him, to see the sport and incidentally get a little late fishing. Bramham had received a note from Lessing that morning, asking him to come out for a few days before they broke camp, and mentioning that he should not be in for the ball, because Capron, having put in a week's steady drinking without anyone particularly noticing the fact, was now in the uproarious stage and couldn't possibly be left. Whether Mrs. Capron was aware of the state of affairs Bramham did not know, but he thought that a friendly thing to do would be to find out if she had arranged for an escort, and, if not, to offer to call for her with Mrs. Portal's party.At the sound of the carriage she came out into her verandah, looking supremely lovely, as white-skinned, red-haired women have a way of doing in a black setting."I thought I'd just look in to make sure that you were coming, Mrs. Capron," said Bram, his eyes shining with the delight and excitement he always felt at the sight of a pretty woman."Yes, I'm coming, though Nick isn't," she said gaily. "He is out at George Lessing's encampment, you know. I've lent my carriage to Mrs. Portal for some of her party, but Mrs. Lace is going to call for me—she will be here any moment now.""Good! I heard that Nick was still away, and thought I might be of some use. When do you expect him back?""Oh, I don't know," she said carelessly. "I haven't heard from him for several days. I expect he'll stay until Mr. Lessing breaks up his camp.""Well, I must bustle on. I'm afraid I'm late, as it is ... but that's Carson's fault with his telegrams—" He was off towards the gate."Is he back, then?" called Mrs. Capron after him."No, coming back to-night—should be in by eleven," said Bram, getting into his carriage.At the Portals' he found that some of the party had already gone. Mrs. Portal was not quite ready, but Miss Chard was in the drawing-room. She was resting in a big chintz chair, with her white chiffon skirts foaming all round her, and her hands holding a great bunch of shining orange leaves that gave out a faint, crushed scent. She had them held to her face when Bramham came in, and her eyes were closed. She looked like a woman praying. At the sound of him she started up, and the leaves dropped rustling to the floor."Oh!" she cried in a wild, odd voice that Bramham did not recognise. He looked at her in surprise."Did I startle you? I'm sorry!""No—oh no ... not at all ... only I thought—" She regained her composure rapidly and sat down again, arranging her draperies."I believe I must have been asleep, and you woke me up," she smiled. Her face was as white as her gown, but her eyes were dark and dilated, as if she were under the influence of a drug. Bramham thought she looked like death, until she smiled, and then he decided that he had never seen her more alluring."Unlucky man! you will have to ferry three of us down!" she said. "Mrs. Portal is insisting on Miss Allendner coming too. The poor soul has been so depressed ever since the fire——""Good," said Bramham. "The carriage will hold a quartette easily, but if you want more room for your skirts, I'll sit up aloft.""Not at all. You will come in with us or I shall sit up aloft too."They laughed, and he asked if he might secure a dance or two from her now."I know it's no use asking for the first waltz," he ventured."Oh, yes ... you can have it, if you like.""What?""Yes, really—and whichever others you like." Bramham seized her card blithely."Now this comes of getting ahead of pirates like Abinger and Carson——""But ...he... has not returned?" she asked quickly. It occurred to Bramham to be wily in the interest of his dances. Carson is big enough and ugly enough to look after himself, was his thought."No ... not yet. But hemightrun in, mightn't he? You're not thinking of going back on me, are you?""Of course not!" She turned away.He dotted his initials thickly on her card, for he had discovered at a little informal affair that she danced delightfully. When he gave it back, her hands were trembling violently. Even the mention of Carson's return had power to shake her whole being.Mrs. Portal came in, looking thin and worn, but with her little gay air that carried everything along and made people forget to observe that her eyes were ringed, and her cheeks drawn, or what colour she was dressed in. Laughing and apologising, she implored Poppy to give a glance at the back of her gown to see if it was all right."Really, I believe I laced it with my toes," she said. "My hands haven't had a moment since daybreak.... Come along, or we shall be late, and have to sit glued to the wall all night.... Miss Allendner, you simply take the shine out of us all in that gown ... you areallshine ... I never saw any one so shamefully magnificent.... Come along, good peoples." She pushed thepleased old soul gently out of the room before her, and Bramham and Poppy followed. Miss Allendner was, indeed, at her best in a shining sequined gown, which Mrs. Portal had been at some pains to reconstruct and bring up-to-date.Eventually they set off—Poppy still carrying her bunch of orange leaves, faintly scenting the carriage. Sometimes when the others were absorbed in talk, she secretly pressed them against her heart. She felt as though she had gone back again to the days of her childhood, when misery claimed her, and there was no hope of comfort, or strength, or kindness, from anything but trees and green leaves. She was glad that she wore her mother's old green brooch and that there were great pieces of green malachite in the high Empire comb she had stuck in her piled-up crown of black, black hair; she needed all the strength that green things could give her to-night.One of the first people they saw on entering was Mary Capron, standing in the centre of the ball-room, a little crowd of people about her, supremely beautiful in black lace and diamonds. She came over to them at once with a little loving pat of welcome for Clem and a brilliant smile for the others. She half extended her hand to Poppy, in friendliness; but Poppy turned away from her. She could not welcome the touch of a hand that had smitten happiness out of her life. They all moved down the big ball-room together. There were little groups everywhere of laughing men and women, and the seats that ran all round the room were all occupied. The bandsmen up on the stage, massed with palms and flags and greenery, were making quivery-quavery sounds on their instruments.Other women came up and greeted them."What a crush!... we shall have the gowns torn off our backs when the dancing begins ... don't youthink it was a mistake to have the ball so early?... so hot still!"Behind her Poppy heard one of the Maritzburg women say to the other in a low voice:"Clem's got paint on again.... She never used to do it ... I wonder if Bill has been badly hit in the slump? There'ssomethingwrong!""I hear that Nick came in from the camp at the last moment. Do you think it could possibly be true, Clem?" said Mrs. Capron."That depends on who told you.""Young Head. He said he heard someone say that Nick and your Billy were both at the Club. Perhaps they are going to surprise us by appearing." Mrs. Capron's voice did not express much enthusiasm. Clem's eyes flashed like lightning round the room, in search of young Head, and she saw him immediately, busily collecting dances. She had an inclination to rush straight over to him, but she curbed it. Another inclination that almost overwhelmed her was to fly from the hall, and take a rickshaw to the Club; but she curbed that too, though to do so cost an effort that threw up her rouge-spots more clearly by reason of the increased pallor of her cheeks. She continued to talk easily."How did you get here, Mary?""I drove down with Mrs. Lace. How do I look, darling? This is myMachinkagown ... you haven't seen it before, have you?""Perfect, dear. I never saw you look more beautiful.... Isn't Poppy wonderful to-night, too? ... she looks like a woman who has stepped out of a dream ... no wonder the men crowd round her. If I could only catch her eye, we'd move on."When Poppy's card was all but full, a voice said at her elbow:"Don't forgetme." Nothing could have looked more out of place in that gay ball-room than Abinger's scarred, sardonic face. But he stood there, cool and irreproachably dressed."I'm sorry. I'm afraid there are none left.""I am unfortunate." He shrugged and turned away, and Poppy, looking round for the others, caught Clem Portal's face with the mask off for one moment. With that sight her faltering, fainting purpose changed to firm resolution. Softly she called after Abinger, but when he reached her again she seemed breathless."I have a dance ... number five—" She held out her card, and while he wrote upon it she spoke again, swiftly and low. The preliminary soft bars of the first waltz were already floating down the room."Will you please be where I can see you—and reach youinstantly... if I should want you?"A slight, bitter smile came to his lips."Certainly! The middle of the room would be a good place, I should say."Her eyes blazed at him for a moment. Then a subtle, alluring look crossed her face, for all her lips were the lips of a ghost. She half whispered to him:"Do you want me—Luce?"Her eyes looked into his for one short instant before she veiled them quickly, and her heart seemed to turn over within her, for desire stalked, naked and unashamed, in the eyes of Luce Abinger."Do I want you. By God!" he said, under his breath."Well—to-night—I think I may come—home," she faltered; then without another word or look she turned away, and took Bramham's arm for the first waltz.Abinger did not approach her again; neither did he dance. He lounged conspicuously in a doorway, and if anyone spoke to him, he snarled at them and they wenthastily away. When the fifth dance came, he waited until the music began; then walked across to where Poppy was sitting, offered his arm nonchalantly, and they took the floor together. When they had been dancing for a few moments he spoke:"Poppy ...to-night?""To-night," her pale lips gave back answer. Her feet moved in time to the waltz, but she lay half fainting in his arms. He had the daring to bend his head and touch her face with his burning lips. Amid the flashing lights of jewels, and the whirling faces, it was almost safe to have gone unnoticed; everyone was too busy to watch what others were doing.But there happened to be a man standing in a doorway, hiding his grey travelling tweeds behind two or three immaculates, who were trying to persuade him that it would be quite a remarkable joke if he would come in as he was, and pirouette amongst the dancers."Come on now, Carson ... give us a taste of the old Karri of old, mad days," a Rand man was saying; and Carson, though listening and laughing, was watching two people in the room. So it happened that he saw the kiss—and the woman's face almost lying on Abinger's shoulder. How could he know that she was dazed, half unconscious, not knowing what she did, or caring? Abruptly he pushed through the laughing group and stood full in the doorway. For an instant he was on the verge of trampling over everyone in the room to get to those two and tear them apart; for an instant the other men thought they were going to have a return of mad Carson with a vengeance, and were sorry they had spoken; one of them laid a hand on his arm. But in that instant a woman's eyes had met Carson's—long, topaz-coloured eyes, full of eager welcome and tenderness. The next moment he had flung away from the other men, and was striding through thewide vestibule, down the Town Hall steps towards a rickshaw, to take him God knew where. As he put his foot on it a hand fell to his shoulder, and Brookfield's voice to his ear—full of relief."Carson! By gad! I'm glad you're back; Capron's cut his throat, and they say he's dying at the Club. Come on!"Carson stared at him with a stunned air."Capron!" he stammered."Yes; sliced his head off nearly. He was too drunk to go home, so they hid him in Ferrand's room at the Club with Portal in charge. But while Portal was out of the room for a moment, Nick found Ferrand's best razor.""Well, I can't come," said Carson roughly, after a pause. "I have business of my own.""You'vegotto come, Karri. He's raving for you. Someone said you'd arrived, and Ferrand told me to find you, or he'd have another hæmorrhage. Come on, now. He won't keep you long; he's booked!"Carson cursed and muttered, but eventually they got into the rickshaw and went off together.Five minutes later a woman shrouded in a long, black satin cloak, her head muffled in veils, slipped down the steps and beckoned a rickshaw. In a whisper she directed theboyand told him to hurry.At about an hour after midnight Clem came to Poppy, who was sitting out a dance with a peaceful partner, and drawing her aside said:"Dear, something awful has happened to Nick Capron and Mary can't be found. I fancy she must have been feeling ill and gone home without telling anyone. Anyway, Mr. de Grey and I are going to see. I've askedBramham to take you home as soon as you would like to go.... the others will want to dance until dawn.... Billy is at the Club, too, it appears.""I'll come now," said Poppy quickly, forgetful of everything in the momentary excitement."No; I can't wait for you, dear, as I'm ready. Better come on with Mr. Bramham or Mr. Abinger. Suppose you and Miss Allendner wait at Sea House for me?... It's an easy drive from the Club.... I'll call for you there, and we'll all go up home together.... it will probably be painful, breaking the news to poor Mary. I'll come as soon as I can afterwards." She hurried away, and Poppy, excusing herself to her partner, went to the dressing-room for her wraps. On her way she met Abinger, told him swiftly what had happened, and asked him to find Miss Allendner. But when she emerged from the dressing-room Abinger and Bramham were waiting for her, minus the companion."She was dancing so happily for the first time to-night, that I hadn't the heart to drag her away," said Abinger, with unheard-of benevolence. The truth was that Miss Allendner did not at all enter into his plans for the evening, and so he had not bothered to look for her.The three of them left the hall together and reached Bramham's carriage, which had been sent for. Afterwards they drove away in the direction of Sea House. Bramham, with permission, smoked moodily out of a window, and Abinger, without permission, under cover of the uncertain light, took Poppy's hand; but it lay like a smooth, cold stone, and gave no response to his hot hold. His hands were as bad as his eyes; by just holding a woman's hand for three seconds, he could tell her things which for her soul's sake she had avoided knowing all her life.They were a silent party when they arrived at Sea House. In the dining-room they sat down and Bramhamdrummed his fingers on the table, wondering where Carson was. Luggage was lying in the verandah, and Bramham's note was open on the table; but of Carson himself no sign.Inspiration came to Abinger to go and rout out the servants to make coffee and sandwiches, for there was a distinct chill in the air, and as none of them had partaken of any supper to speak of, they felt weary and collapsed. As it happened, the servants had not gone to bed, so the coffee soon made its appearance, and at Poppy's suggestion a further supply was ordered to be ready for Mrs. Portal and de Grey. They sat at the table, and Poppy poured out the coffee; but Bramham was restless and began to walk the room, staring out at the night, and then into Carson's room, which led from the dining-room, and the door of which stood ajar. Once he sniffed the air, and then stopped and listened.Abinger smiled sourly at him."Whose trail areyouon, Bram?""There's something odd in the air—some unusual scent," was the answer."Perhaps Miss Chard can account for it," suggested Abinger. Bramham ventured near her, sniffing still."I never use scent," said she, "but I, too, seem to smell some heavy scent.""Someone's been here," said Bramham, convinced, and thereupon called in theboysagain and questioned them in Zulu."No—no one had been," they said, "excepting onlyIntandugaza, who had remained but a little while and gone away very angry."Both Abinger and the white woman in the white gown who sat by the table understood Zulu, and heard for the first time now of Carson's arrival that evening. To Abinger the fact did not mean much. But Poppy satstaring with frozen lips at her bunch of orange leaves which lay now upon the table. Also, she was listening intently. It seemed to her that the sea, rustling and whispering on the beach at the foot of the garden, had a message for her that she had often heard before, but had never understood. Dimly, for the first time, the meaning of its mysterious sighing was creeping into her weary brain."Rest, rest, rest—peace—rest," it whispered and sang.Bramham came to the table, took another sandwich, and ate it walking about the room."Well, I can smell something," he averred, as though making a new statement. "Can't you, Abinger?""Oh, have some more coffee, Bram. Your nerves have gone back on you."Poppy poured him out another cup."We are all odd to-night," she said, with a wan smile."It must be the news about poor Nick Capron," Bram said, and was just taking his coffee-cup from her hand when they thought they heard a sound. They looked at each other. It was a gentle little sound, and might have been anything imagination suggested—a groan, or a cough, or an exclamation. They waited intently to hear it repeated, but it never came again. Abruptly Bramham caught up a lamp—the lamp with Mrs. Brookfield's little pink-silk shade upon it, and walked towards the only door of the room that was open. It was the door of Carson's bedroom—Poppy's eyes saw that in a moment. She and Abinger had risen and followed Bram, and stood behind him in the doorway. Her eyes took in every detail of the wide, breezy room; the long, green curtains at the windows, the heavy oak furniture, the guns, and whips, and rods standing about, the books—and a big photograph of Mrs. Portal's gay-sad face, smiling, on the mantelpiece.Then she went back to her chair and listened once more to the whispering sea:"Rest, rest—peace, rest.""I swear I heard someone say 'Oh!'" said Bramham angrily."Look under the bed," mocked Abinger."Look under it yourself, my dear fellow!"They returned to the dining-room."What a beast of a night!" continued Bramham explosively. "What is one to do? I've a good mind to take a run up to the Club and see whether I can do anything, or where the others are ... shall I? Will you people come too?""No," said Poppy quietly. "We'll stay here. I have something to say to Mr. Abinger."At any other time Bramham might have found this remark surprising, but on this upside-down night, when nothing had happened as it should have done, and the air was full of odd scents and sounds, he merely thought it in keeping with the rest of things, so he departed, without even taking his hat.CHAPTER XXXIVNICK CAPRON lay on a bed in one of the bedrooms of the Club—a sobbing, raving, blaspheming figure, fearful in bandages sodden with blood, his arms strapped to the sides of the bed to keep him from tearing at his throat. The doctor and Portal stood by, regarding him, one with a calm, professional eye, the other with a wet forehead. Carson sat on a chair at the foot of the bed with a face like a stone wall, staring straight before him, his hands in his pockets.The injured man spoke continuously in a gurgling, guttural way, half of his words intelligible, the other half maniacal. His main plaint was for the sight of Carson, whom he had not recognised."I wish you'd fetch Carson ... there's no one like old Karri ... he's worth the whole damned boiling of you ... besides, I have something to say to him ... if I am booked for the last stretch I'd like Karri to see me off.... Oh, blazes! what the——is this at my throat? Carson! Karri—where is my devoted wife, too?Sheought to be here to speed the parting guest ... Mary—a damned iceberg ... but I'd like some ice.... Give me some ice, Karri——"After a time the narcotic administered began to take effect, and the watchers were relieved from the strain of listening to these ravings. Ferrand and Portal took drinks and sat down to wait for the coming of Mrs. Capron."—And an infernal long time she is about it," said Ferrand. "What doyouthink, Karri?"If Carson had an opinion on the subject he did not state it, but he roused himself and looked at the time. It was nearly half-past one."I must get home," he muttered. "If you want me Ferrand, you can telephone to Bramham's house. I want to see Bramham," he added absently.Ferrand cocked a professional eye at him."You're used up, Carson. Go home and sleep, but first see if you can find Mrs. Capron, there's a good chap. We can't have this over again when he comes to. Shemustbe here and that's all there is to it. You can use my cart if you like, to get home in. Get a rest, old man ... you look just aboutpeleela... take my cart."Carson accepted the offer and went out, followed by Portal through the silent rooms of the Club to the front verandah.Ferrand's red-wheeled dog-cart, with its coolie-driver, usually formed part of the street furniture, for the doctor had a happy habit of leaving it outside the Club door, going in and settling down to poker and forgetting all about it. But at the moment it was nowhere to be seen, the fact being that the man, tired of sitting still, had begun to walk the horse, and was now out of sight at the far end of the street.There was not a rickshaw to be seen; they were all waiting for revellers outside the Town Hall. Fatigue was beginning to tell on Carson: he rapped out a bad and bitter word."Cheer up!" said Portal blithely. "You'll soon be dead!"It was a well-worn expression, and Carson was accustomed to it, but upon this occasion it jarred. Something in Portal's voice was jarring, too. Now that Carson came to remark it, for the first time that evening there was something wrong with Portal's appearance as well as hisvoice. Instead of being in evening-dress, he had on a brown tweed morning-suit, in which, to judge by its appearance, he might have been knocking about the veldt for several weeks. On the other hand, his face was as bloodless and sallow as if he had been shut in a cellar for a month, and his eyes were sunk deep in his head. Withal, he was cheerful, full of suppressed excitement—almost it might be said that he was gay. After many years in Africa, Carson was accustomed to all kinds of moods and tenses in his friends; also, being an intimate of Portal's, he was aware that the latter possessed a troublesome liver. But somehow, none of these things could quite account for the extraordinary aspect and manner of Portal to-night. Under the powerful rays of a street light which fizzled and hummed close by, Carson observed him intently."What's the matter with you, Bill? You look queer. Anything wrong? ... besides Capron, I mean...?"The other responded with apparent composure."No, nothing. I'm only glad to see you, Carson, that's all. I'd no idea you were back from the Rand. I had arranged to go up there after you, but——""When? What for?" asked Carson in surprise. He was unable to make head or tail of Portal's speech."Oh, nothing; just wanted to see you. You're a fascinating chap."Carson gazed at him.One of Portal's hands spasmodically gripped and ungripped the verandah rail. With the other he appeared to be holding something stiff in the right pocket of his coat. He continued to talk in parables."I went as far as Maritzburg, but I came back to-night to put my affairs into shape and write a few letters—then those fellows came in and asked me to take charge of Capron ... I left him asleep, I thought ... I was writing a letter to—well, never mind who to—when Iheard a row ... and there was Capron ...he'd got ahead of me.""But, good Lord! what do you mean?" Carson burst out. "What's wrong with you? Have your finances gone smash?" he brought an iron hand down on the restless one gripping the verandah railing. The stiff article in Portal's pocket twitched. Carson's career had been adventurous and dangerous, but he had never been nearer death than at that moment. Entirely unconscious of the fact, he went on speaking."If you've had a smash-up, Bill, everything I've got is at your disposal.... I've just made a good turn-over in the market.... I thought I should need it, for ... butmycastle is in ruins.... You can have it if it's any good to you.""Thanks, Carson—my finances are all right.""Then what in thunder's the matter with you?—haven't you got the only good woman in this filthy country I'd like to know! I could swear totwountil to-night.Now, if it were not for your wife, I should say they were all rotten to the core ... false as—Oh, well, what's the use?" he turned wearily away."Have you spoken to my wife since you got back?" asked Portal. He had come closer and was staring intently into Carson's odd eyes as if searching for something there. His gay air was gone; he breathed heavily."I haven't spoken to any woman—except a devil in the train to-day—for nearly three weeks. And after to-night I think I'll be able to exist without 'em forever. But I saw Mrs. Portal from the door of the Town Hall; and she looked to me remarkably ill. Isthatyour trouble?"Portal did not answer at once, and Carson turned on him austerely and keenly. "If it's any other woman, don't expectmeto sympathise with you—I could forgive any man that but you—bah! but it couldn't be ...impossible!... Look here, Bill, I may as well tell you something now ... you can take it how you like ... I'm not ashamed of it ... I was in love with your wife for years ... she has never known it for one moment ... but I loved her crazily—everything and everyone else went by the board ... until I met her I was—well, I needn't tellyouwhat I was—no follower of Plato, anyway—and you can take this how you please, too—I am not going to pretend that there was anything platonic about my feeling for her ... there wasnot.... But, because she never turned her eyes my way ... or stepped down once in all the years I've known her and you from her shrine ... it got finer and finer until it got to be the highest, finest thing in my life, and anything decent that I've ever done was because of it."Portal had turned his head away before Carson had finished and appeared to be looking at something down the street. The thought came to Carson that he was either indifferent or not listening."Ah, well!" said he, angry to have wasted his confidence and yet too weary to be angry long. "I daresay this doesn't interest you much ... you know, of course, that dozens of men have been in love with your wife ... she's one of the women men can't help loving with all that's decent in them—any more than one can help loving one's mother. A love like that is like a star in the sky of a man's life ... a star that shows the way to the east.... And ifyouare one of those fellows that don't know when a star has come down to you, why——"Portal turned a shaken, strange face to the other man."Carson, you must excuse me; I'm queer to-night ... I've been listening to Capron's ravings until I'm nearly raving myself ... but I think I understand ... I begin to see through it all.... Women do andsay strange things in the name of Love!... But Iknowthat what you say is true—I believe in you, Karri."Carson could not pretend to understand the meaning of this, and moreover, Ferrand's cart was at the door, and the sickening remembrance of his own broken hopes was upon him."Well, good-night, old man.... I must go home. If anything I've got can be of any use to you, let me know." He held out his hand and Portal gripped it."Good-night, Karri—I'm going home, too." His face was transformed.Carson never solved the problem of that conversation with Portal; never knew how near death he had been, never knew how his accidental confidence had saved his life and given back her husband to Clem Portal. Indeed, he never remembered much about his interview with Portal at all. The memory of it was lost amongst the crowded events of that phantasmagorial night.Ferrand's coolie spun the cart along at a great rate behind the doctor's best polo pony. Just as they turned into West Street a flying rickshaw passed them, but though Carson heard a man's voice hailing he did not respond. Mrs. Portal and de Grey were in the rickshaw returning from long and vain seeking for Mrs. Capron, and it was de Grey who shouted, thinking he recognised the doctor's cart in the darkness.But even if Carson had known, he would not have stopped. He had been too long delayed from his own affairs, and he was driving now to get ease from the torture burning in his brain and searing his heart. His thoughts were fixed on one thing now—an interview with Bramham."He's the only honest man amongst us, by Heaven!" he said loudly, so that the coolie driver gave him a nervous glance, and drew away. "The only one I'd take the trouble to believe."He stopped the cart at the gate of Sea House, and told the man to go back to the Club, then strode away up the sea-sanded path. Lights gleamed brilliantly from the dining-room, but silence reigned, and every other part of the house was dark as death. Walking through the verandah with light, swift feet and into the dining-room, he came upon Poppy and Abinger sitting there, facing each other across a corner of the table. There were tears on her face, and one arm was flung out before her with the gesture of one who has thrown the dice on a last and desperate venture. Abinger's hand lay on hers.They stood up as Carson sped into the room, his eyes blazing light in his dark face, and before anyone could speak he reached Abinger and without word or warning struck him a tremendous blow between the eyes, felling him to the floor, where he lay quite still. Then he took the girl by the throat—the long, white throat that shone in the darkness."By God! I must kill you!" he said, and his voice was whispering like the sea's. She heard him; but she made no movement upward of her hands, though the pressure on her throat was terrible to bear. She closed her eyes and prepared to die. The thought slipped into her mind then that it would be good to have rest at last from the ache and storm of life. That was the message the sea was whispering."Rest, rest ... peace ... rest!"After a long while she opened her eyes and found that she was sitting in the same chair she had previously risen from. Bramham's broad back was before her, but she could see Evelyn Carson leaning heavily against the wall like a drunken man, and Abinger seated in another chair delicately wiping his lips. His scar had opened, and bloodwas trickling down it. The silence was broken by Bramham's voice—quite calm and pleasant."If you want to kill each other, take a brace of revolvers and go out and do it decently somewhere in the open, where it won't make a mess—killing Miss Chard, however, is quite another matter."Again silence prevailed. Later, Carson said collectedly:"She can live—if she wants to"—he gave her a look that lashed across her face like a whip, leaving it distorted. "Let them both live, and be damned to them!"The tone and expression of bitter pleasantry Bramham had adopted, died away."Well!youfellows from home—!" he began, and looked from face to face. Abinger continued to wipe blood delicately away, but he did not wipe the sneer from his lips. The girl had the face of a little tired, weeping child: the sight of it turned Bramham's heart to water. He put out a hand to Carson, appealingly:"God! Karri, what is it?"The paleness of Carson under his tan had once more given place to an inartistic-grey tint, and his eyes were dull; but he appeared strangely composed."Nothing, Bram," he said. "Only to find the girl you love—less than nothing."A cry broke upon their ears, and all started and stared about them, especially at the open door of Carson's room, from whence that muffled, involuntary sound had come. A stiffness came over them; their masks slipped on. What unknown person had listened to the wild words that had been spoken?Suddenly Bram remembered the sensations and scents that had assailed him earlier in the night; catching up the same pink-shaded lamp, he once more entered Carson's room. He gave one searching glance about him, and then instinct took him to the only possible cover—a narrowcurtained recess in which to hang clothes. He thrust his hand between the curtains. Mary Capron spared him further trouble—she swept out from the recess, and from the room, giving him one burning glance of hatred as she passed.In the dining-room she stood still, the centre of attraction for the second time that night. Her cloak had fallen from her shoulders, and her beautifully-coifféhair was ruffled and limp, her eyes were long gleams of topaz light in a carved-stone face. And for some reason she poured the full measure of her rage and scorn upon poor Bramham, who had dazedly followed her, stepping carefully to avoid her train, and standing there now with the little pink lamp in his hand."Have you peered and pried enough?" she asked, piercing him with her eyes. "Is your curiosity satisfied—now that you have dragged me out? I came here to speak to Evelyn Carson—hearing voices, I foolishly hid.... Is your taste for scandal appeased?"Poor, gallant, woman-loving Bramham! He paled and started, like a man who has unexpectedly been struck in the face; then, turning, still dazed, he walked away with the lamp in his hand from the room, and from the house—hishouse! In the pathway he discovered the lamp in his hand and put all his strength and disgust into flinging the hapless thing with a crash into a bush.In the room the girl, still sitting in her chair, but with an awakening look of amazement and hope upon her face, said some words very softly to Mary Capron:"So you lied! ... false woman! ... andbase friend!"But Mary Capron turned from her. Shaking with rage and defeat, she flung a torrent of low, rushing words at Carson."Youlove this girl ... girl! ... her confessions to Luce Abinger here to-night were not very girlish ... Icould not hear all that she said to him, but I heard enough.... She told him that she gave herself to some man in a garden three years ago ... that she belongedonlyto that man and could never love any other——""No more," broke fiercely from Carson's white lips."But youshallhear!" she cried, flinging out a hand and catching his arm. "She has had a child... she boasted of it ...the child of the man in the garden.... Do you deny it? Do you deny it?" she cried, turning to Poppy. But Poppy did not deny, did not speak: only lifted her head proudly and smiled."There ... there ... you see?... let her deny it if she can!"Stiffly Carson turned his head now and looked at Poppy; his lips twisted like a man's who is tasting poison; his eyes demanded."Yes, I have borne a son," she said simply.For a moment there was such a silence as is found in rooms where the dead are lying. Then Mary Capron broke it again:"She is proud of it!... Yousee... you see what you love? Is it possible that for a woman likethat... that forheryou can turn from my love, I who would let men brand me in the face for you—who——""Oh, for God's sake!—are you mad?... be silent." Carson caught her hands roughly and made to draw her away. But she was beyond herself. "And now Nick is dying ... I have heard them saying it ... and they are looking for me to go to him, but I will not ... I will not!... I will stay here with you, Eve—I am terrified of blood—I—" she finished on a high note that was almost a shriek, for Abinger had risen quietly from his chair in the corner and was before her with his scarred, bleeding face. Then at last she was silent. What there was to be said, Abinger said—blandly, softly."Oh! I think you had b-better come, Mary. It will not be the first t-time you've seen a man cut about. You remember the night this was done?" He touched his face and she shrank away blenching. "The night Carmen punished me foroursins. You were quite brave then. You saw the whole performance without uttering a scream or a cry that might have brought people to the scene and discovered you. No one should blame you for that, but—I think you could be brave enough to see Nick." He held out his hand to her. She shrank from him, wilting with shame, her eyes frozen in her face; but he was inexorable."I think you had better come. It seems to me that you have said enough for one night to Carson and Miss Chard. She is free of me for ever—I have told her so. And Carson is free of you. Is not that plain to you? They love each other ... let us leave them to settle their affairs. You and I—have many old memories to discuss—unless you would rather discuss them here?"She went at that, with hurrying feet; and the man with the bleeding, smiling face followed her.Carson and Poppy were left alone. They stared into each other's eyes with an agony of love and longing and fear. Anger was all gone from Carson's face; only fear was there—fear that was terror. It was the girl who stood now; he had fallen into a chair, wearily, desperately."Is it true?" he muttered; "is it true, after all?—a child!" His own sins were forgotten in this overwhelming, bitter revelation.She went over to him, and kneeled between his knees."Yes; it is true, Eve ...yourchild! ... child of the night you dreamed that poppies grew upon the eternal hills....I am Poppy!Do you not know me?" He sat up straight then and looked down at her, looked downdeep into the glimmering eyes. "I am Poppy," she said, and her voice was wine in a crystal beaker. She dragged the malachite comb from her hair, and it came tumbling down upon her shoulders in long black ropes. "I am Poppy who gave you all her gifts."The sea helped her; it sent into the room a strong, fresh wind that blew the veils of her hair across his face and lips. He breathed sharply. God! What strange scent of a lost dream was here? What sweet, elusive fragrance of a most dear memory!He took hold of her hair as though he would have torn it from her head. A light was in his face—he drew her to him, staring into her eyes."Poppy? ...Poppy!...nota dream?...Notthe ravings of fever?... Poppy!" He held her hair across his face as though smelling some wonderful flower."Eve ... did you not say to me, 'If I were stricken blind in this hour—'" she stopped."'—from ten thousand women I could search you out by the scent of your hair,'" he finished.Again they stayed long, staring into each other's eyes. Staring—glance falling to glance and rising again; staring with the brave, shame-stricken looks that women give to men they adore and endow, and men to women they rob, and bless—and rob again. Strange that two people who love each other cannot for long bear the ardent flame of each other's eyes."Part of it is lost—for ever," he said at last.... "Gone! ... only fragments remain. But there never was a dream like the dream we dreamt on that lost night." And after a long time:"Poppy—where is my son?"She lifted her eyes to him. The tears which she could never shed for herself would always come rushing forth for that sweet memory."All my love could not keep him, Eve."She pulled a child's framed face from her bosom and held it up to his eyes. He saw the little familiar face he had looked at once before, pictured in a field of corn and poppies, and trembled. He gave it one swift, sorrowful look and then he wrapped his arms about her, and she lay on his breast."Do you regret?" he asked. "Have you ever regretted? Oh, God! how can I ask?""No, no," she cried, but her voice was faint. Even while she spoke she knew—none better than she—how vain were denials against the truth of the past. How all their memories and all their gladness to come must ever be salted with pain and tainted with the bitter gall of regret. How, when she laid a child in his arms, their thoughts would terribly fly to that lost son of a lost dream lying far from them in an alien land. They were transgressors—and the reward of transgressors must ever be theirs!Not much more was said. Only enough to chase the shadows of others from the road of life they meant to take together and make it clear before them. For the rest—they had all the years to come in which to understand and suffer and forgive.He thought of the turmoil and transgression and "tremendous disarray" of his life—and of dark, still nights far away in Borapota, with this woman of his dreams by his side—and his heart sent up a cry that was not unworthy of it."O, Lord God—forgive me my sins!"When Bramham came into the room long after, she was still kneeling there in her white gown and her loosened hair, and she thought it no shame for him to find her so.She rose to her feet and gave him her hand, and he held it closely, preciously—for he, too, loved this woman."Thank God that out of this jumble and carnage comes one good thing!" he said. "Yourship is home in port. Take her out to the gate, Carson. Mrs. Portal is waiting, and they're going to pick up Portal at the Club. Capron will recover, Ferrand says."When Poppy had hastily fastened her hair, and Carson had wrapped her in her cloak, they went down to the gate where Clem waited half in and half out of a carriage window. Her face was radiant, too. She drew Poppy in beside her."Are you two happy?" she whispered. "So am I." But she told nothing of the golden moment that had been hers within the past hour, when, in the darkness of the Club verandah, a big, sullenly handsome man had taken her in his arms and just whispered:"Forgive!—Loraine!"She was that lovely thing, a close woman.CHAPTER XXXVTHE quay at the Point was crowded with people to see the sailing of theTunis. The English Government had chartered the vessel specially to take Sir Evelyn Carson, his men, stores, horses, guns, mining and agricultural machinery, and all the other quantities of things needed in the great business of opening up and civilising the latest possession of the Empire—to Borapota.The sailing of the ship was, of course, an event of great public interest, but Sir Evelyn had, at the last moment, provided a further and electrifying sensation by being quietly married that morning to the distinguished African authoress,Eve Destiny; and his wife was accompanying him to Borapota on theTunis.Durban considered itself badly treated in not having been inviteden masseto witness the ceremony; also, in being cheated of introspective discussion of the match, by having no faintest prenotion of it. But it was not to be done out of at least a parting glimpse of the principals in this unexpecteddénouement. And so it happened that the quay was crowded, for the fashionable world had come down like the Assyrians, and everyone with the slimmest claim to the acquaintance of Carson or his wife made occasion to visit theTunisbefore the hour of sailing. The rest of the world was obliged to be content with lining the docks and blackening the Breakwater.Just after twelve, with the tide at full, preliminary sirens and scrunching of chains began to be heard, andword was given for people to leave theTunis. That was a sign for everyone to come on deck, and the curious watchers ashore got a chance at last of seeing the special object of their curiosity. She appeared in the companionway door, smiling, with her hand through the arm of her great friend, Mrs. Portal; behind were a little group of men with Eve Carson towering in their midst.Lady Carson was still wearing the gown she had been married in, and she looked vividly beautiful. Shimmering leaf-green draperies swept the decks, under a long coat of pale-grey velvet, and her poem face was shadowed by a plumed, grey hat. Her husband thought that she looked like the incarnation of Ireland—and than the beauty ofthatimagination could no further go.She and Clem Portal, alone together for the first time in all that busy, eventful day, walked a little apart to make their farewells, and the eyes of the men followed them, resting naturally on the vivid glowing woman in the shimmering green-and-grey. Her husband's were the only eyes that did not follow her. He had given her one deep, long glance at the altar; and since then had not looked her way. His tanned face wore the impassive, almost cataleptic expression that men assume when they wish to conceal deep emotion from the eyes of the world. But he walked as one whom the gods have chosen to honour. Bramham strongly suspected him of suffering from what is known among men as—a swagger in the blood!"I expect he feels tall enough to pull the sky down to-day," was the loyal fellow's thought, and he smiled affectionately and put an arm on Karri's shoulder.Clem and Poppy walked along the deck together. They did not say much. Only, under cover of a big, grey velvet sleeve, and a stole of delicate lace Clem wore, their hands were tightly clasped together. The Portals would begone from Africa before Eve Carson's five years' work in Borapota was over; and where, or when, the two women would meet again was a matter that lay upon the knees of the gods. Neither wished to let one word of regret mar the gladness of the day; but each knew how deeply the other felt the parting."Oh, Clem!" Poppy said at last, with something like a sob in her voice. "It is all so wonderful—to be out of the 'tangled wild' at last, with the clear, open land before us! Can it be true? I have had so many blows in the face, and I am so undeserving of this great happiness—can it be true?""Chance is more just than we are!" Clem softly quoted. "Poppy, before we part I must tell you something ... about my name—Loraine. Bill wants me to tell you ... and he saysyou will know why. It is my own name, dear—but I have never allowed anyone to call me by it but Bill. When people love each other very muchyou know—they give each other little secret gifts that no one else must know of—this was one of mine to Bill. All the world can call me Clem—butLorainewas only for him. Others came to know of it by accident, but I never gave anyone the right to call me by that name but Bill——"Poppy held the little brown, thin hand more tightly."I know, I know, darling," she fervently said. She could not at this time tell Clem how much else she knew—all that Carson had told her of the secret love he had borne for Clem for many years; but she had no feeling of bitterness now, or anger concerning that love. Clem went on, a little hurriedly, for time was flying:"I had another reason too—under my mask I am dreadfully superstitious and primitive. All the Loraines in my ancestral history have lost those whom they loved—in some tragic way. I am afraid of history. Oh, Poppy! when one loves ... when one loves ... one is afraid ofeverything." She turned white and began to tremble. "Howfearfulone is! I have been so fearful always for Bill ... that I have never even dared showhimhow much I care. I always think if I am silent, silent, silent ... never bragging, never telling of my soul's idolatry, God will be merciful to me." She was trembling like a leaf, and stammering with pallid lips—this calm, well-masked, self-possessed woman of the world. Never before had any woman's eyes seen past the barriers into the inmost chapel of Clem Portal's heart. And Poppy, overwhelmed, could only tenderly say:"Dear Clem ... thank you.... God bless you!" Bramham bustled up."We've got to clear out, Mrs. Portal ... they're going to haul up the gangway!" He turned to Poppy. "And the siren is hooting us out of your paradise. Well, Lady Carson! the world will expect wonderful things from your pen up in the silences of Borapota!"She smiled at him with radiant, misty eyes."Let it expect. I shall never be able to write any more, Charlie. I can never do anything again but live. I know how tolive."The others joined them then, and the whole group moved gangwaywards, individual remarks swamped in general farewells, jests, laughter, good wishes. All were ashore at last, leaving Poppy and Carson standing alone, side by side, with the keen winter sunlight bright upon them.When they could no longer recognise friendly faces to wave to, they turned and looked at each other. Catalepsy disappeared from Carson's face—it grew boyish, ardent, gay.
[6]Rotten.
[6]Rotten.
"Oh! Bramham's a good fellow," said Carson, smiling at this new version of a tale of highway-robbery. "I don't think he could have behaved very badly."
"Good fellows and bad fellows are all just the same when they're tired of you," said Miss Cornell feelingly; adding, with great hauteur: "Not that I ever allowed any man to get tired ofme, Sir Evelyn, I assure you. There's not a single fellow in Africa can say athingabout me."
This was very impressive, but Carson did not exactly know what it might mean. He only knew that he was growing a little weary.
"And then there was a girl that I befriended. I took her in when she came to my house without a rag to her back, or a shoe to her foot, one night—fed her, clothed her, and treated her like my own sister—or would have done if she hadn't been such a cold-blooded, standoffishslang.[7]Yet I can assureyou, Sir Evelyn, that when I was on the Durban Race-course three weeks ago, with twoperfect gentlemenfrom the Rand, she sat quite close to me in a carriage with that Mrs. Portal, and though I smiled and bowed to hertwice, she deliberately looked right through me.... I might have been a bit of rubbish lying in the street...."
[7]Snake.
[7]Snake.
Something in this narrative dimly, though unpleasantly, interested Carson. He forgot his weariness for the moment and looked at the woman intently.
"Yes ... what do you think of that? Deliberatelycutme ... me who had been her friend in need. I supposed it was because she had managed to get taken up by a big-pot like Mrs. Portal.... I said so to one of my friends—such a nice boy—you may know him—Wolfie Isaacs, of the firm of Isaacs and Jacobs. But after he'd been away talking to some other men, he came back and told me thatshewas the great authoress who wrote all the cracked books and poems about Africa, and that everyone was raving about her. He said I must have made a mistake when I thought I knew her! What do you think ofthat? The girl I had taken in without any shoes to her feet!... and, oh my! couldn't I tell a tale to her swell friend Mrs. Portal if I—" Something in the steely expression of the face opposite suddenly arrested her flow of eloquence.
"Do you mind telling me whom you are talking about?" said Carson quietly.
"Certainly—I'm delighted to. It is only fair that everybody should know what aslangthat girl is, to cutmelike that, who had taken her in without asking a single question about where she came from.... Och! but I can tell you I found out afterwards, Sir Evelyn ... she's as bad as she can be, that Rosalind Chard——"
Carson's tanned skin had turned an ashy-yellow shade, which was neither becoming nor artistic.
"Woman—" he said in a low, hoarse voice, scarcely audible; but his eyes said a great deal more than his lips; and Miss Cornell, at first surprised, became angrily red.
"Och! don't youwomanme!" she cried, bridling. "Soyou'rea friend of hers, too, I suppose! She's got very grand all at once!... but I wonder if she told you she used to be constantly in a house on the Berea with Luce Abinger. That it was fromhishouse she came that night I took her in! MyboyZambani saw her come through the gap in the hedge that led from Abinger's garden. Ha! ha! and she pretending to be such a saint all the time! Ask Mr. Bramham! He knows all about it."
Carson took it like a blow between the eyes. If he had not been sitting, he would have reeled. As it was, he leaned against the back of the seat and closed his eyes for a moment, though the lids scorched like flame. But the woman mistook his attitude for calm unbelief. She thought he shut his eyes because he was pretending to be bored, and she was furious.
"And she pretending to be such a saint all the time," she repeated. "A saint in the company of Luce Abinger!" she laughed coarsely.
Carson's eyes were still closed. He was considering—aswell as fury, and surprise, and misery, and four neat brandies become suddenly potent would let him.
Would this woman dare bade up her vile statement with Bramham's name, unless—?... but there must be some explanation. She and Abinger! Oh, God!no!Bram could explain ... she could explain ... if she could not, he would kill her ... he would take her by that long, fair throat——
At that the coldness and calmness of moonlight fell upon him like a pall; his brain cleared; he reflected on the inflamed, furious face opposite him, surveying it deliberately, insultingly, with stony, arrogant eyes. Slowly his handsome lips took on a curve of incomparable insolence and contempt—a look no woman could ever forgive. In that moment Sophie Cornell knew what she was. The colour left her face, and her lips and tongue went dry; She had no words.
His voice was almost gentle.
"It would be scarcely fair to expect a woman of your" (he paused) "inducements—to understand that Miss Chard's reasons for——"
"No," she sneered, hissing like a cobra. "No—of course not—asaintlike that! But I know well enough what sort of a man Luce Abinger is—and so do you. His name isn't spelt L-o-o-s-e for nothing."
That arrow quivered in Carson, but he gave no sign, going on deliberately:
"—For knowing Mr. Abinger might be different to your reasons—or shall we say inducements?"
She hated him with her eyes.
"You would scarcely credit, perhaps, but thereareother things of interest in the world besides—inducements. And that the side of Mr. Abinger's character which appears to be so well known to you, is one that he reserves specially for ladies of your—distractions."
He smiled and added:
"I'm afraid you hardly realise how distracting you are. Here am I, for instance, with a number of pressing matters waiting for my attention"—he put his hand into the breastpocket of his coat and brought out a bundle of letters and papers—"neglecting them to indulge in a fascinated contemplation of you. But if you will be good enough to release me——"
Miss Cornell damped her lips with her tongue.
"I hate Rosalind Chard," she said hoarsely, "but I am sorry for her, all the same, if she gets you. I think you are the worst devil I've ever met in my life. Talk about the three bad men! Abinger and Charlie Bramham are angels compared to you."
"I will let 'Charlie' know of your favourable opinion of him—he will be flattered. Pray excuse me!" He looked apologetically at the papers in his hand.
"Oh! go to hell!" she screamed. Carson bowed, and with that insolent smile still lingering on his lips, gave his attention to his letters.
At Inchanga he stepped out of the carriage and looked about him with careless interest, lighted a cigarette, and presently lounged down the platform. Incidentally he went into the telegraph-office and sent off a wire, requesting Bramham to meet him at the station or be at home waiting for him. When he came out of the little office he was still smoking placidly, but the writing on the telegraph-form resembled the writing of a drunken or palsied man.
On his return to the carriage he found that Miss Cornell had been good enough to remove her distracting presence to some other part of the train.
IT was the night of the Club ball, the first and chief event of the Durban season, and all the fashionable world was busily pranking itself for the occasion.
Bramham had dressed early, for he had been elected by Mrs. Portal to be one of the wild-geese who were to escort her house-party to the Town Hall. Just as he was choosing some cigars for the night at the dining-room table, Carson's telegram arrived. He whistled, meditating upon it for a while.
"Well, this Carson!" he called out to Abinger, who was in a neighbouring room, also arraying himself for the festival. "Wants me to meet him at the station, I thank you!"
"Meet him! What for? He ought to get a maid!"
"Well, I can't do it, anyway," said Bramham, and sitting down, hastily scribbled a note, saying that he could not possibly wait on account of his engagement with Mrs. Portal, but suggesting that Carson, on arrival, should dress and come down to the Town Hall. He left this note on the table, with instructions to theboysto see that Carson got it as soon as he arrived; then jumping into his carriage, he set off for the Portals' house.
On his way up he had an impulse to call at the Caprons', to see what arrangements Mrs. Capron had made for going to the ball. He was aware that Nick had been away for a week, and was not in the way of returning yet a while. A man called Lessing had pitched a camp outbeyond Inanda, to try some experiments in coursing with six pedigree dogs he had imported from home, and several other men had joined him, to see the sport and incidentally get a little late fishing. Bramham had received a note from Lessing that morning, asking him to come out for a few days before they broke camp, and mentioning that he should not be in for the ball, because Capron, having put in a week's steady drinking without anyone particularly noticing the fact, was now in the uproarious stage and couldn't possibly be left. Whether Mrs. Capron was aware of the state of affairs Bramham did not know, but he thought that a friendly thing to do would be to find out if she had arranged for an escort, and, if not, to offer to call for her with Mrs. Portal's party.
At the sound of the carriage she came out into her verandah, looking supremely lovely, as white-skinned, red-haired women have a way of doing in a black setting.
"I thought I'd just look in to make sure that you were coming, Mrs. Capron," said Bram, his eyes shining with the delight and excitement he always felt at the sight of a pretty woman.
"Yes, I'm coming, though Nick isn't," she said gaily. "He is out at George Lessing's encampment, you know. I've lent my carriage to Mrs. Portal for some of her party, but Mrs. Lace is going to call for me—she will be here any moment now."
"Good! I heard that Nick was still away, and thought I might be of some use. When do you expect him back?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said carelessly. "I haven't heard from him for several days. I expect he'll stay until Mr. Lessing breaks up his camp."
"Well, I must bustle on. I'm afraid I'm late, as it is ... but that's Carson's fault with his telegrams—" He was off towards the gate.
"Is he back, then?" called Mrs. Capron after him.
"No, coming back to-night—should be in by eleven," said Bram, getting into his carriage.
At the Portals' he found that some of the party had already gone. Mrs. Portal was not quite ready, but Miss Chard was in the drawing-room. She was resting in a big chintz chair, with her white chiffon skirts foaming all round her, and her hands holding a great bunch of shining orange leaves that gave out a faint, crushed scent. She had them held to her face when Bramham came in, and her eyes were closed. She looked like a woman praying. At the sound of him she started up, and the leaves dropped rustling to the floor.
"Oh!" she cried in a wild, odd voice that Bramham did not recognise. He looked at her in surprise.
"Did I startle you? I'm sorry!"
"No—oh no ... not at all ... only I thought—" She regained her composure rapidly and sat down again, arranging her draperies.
"I believe I must have been asleep, and you woke me up," she smiled. Her face was as white as her gown, but her eyes were dark and dilated, as if she were under the influence of a drug. Bramham thought she looked like death, until she smiled, and then he decided that he had never seen her more alluring.
"Unlucky man! you will have to ferry three of us down!" she said. "Mrs. Portal is insisting on Miss Allendner coming too. The poor soul has been so depressed ever since the fire——"
"Good," said Bramham. "The carriage will hold a quartette easily, but if you want more room for your skirts, I'll sit up aloft."
"Not at all. You will come in with us or I shall sit up aloft too."
They laughed, and he asked if he might secure a dance or two from her now.
"I know it's no use asking for the first waltz," he ventured.
"Oh, yes ... you can have it, if you like."
"What?"
"Yes, really—and whichever others you like." Bramham seized her card blithely.
"Now this comes of getting ahead of pirates like Abinger and Carson——"
"But ...he... has not returned?" she asked quickly. It occurred to Bramham to be wily in the interest of his dances. Carson is big enough and ugly enough to look after himself, was his thought.
"No ... not yet. But hemightrun in, mightn't he? You're not thinking of going back on me, are you?"
"Of course not!" She turned away.
He dotted his initials thickly on her card, for he had discovered at a little informal affair that she danced delightfully. When he gave it back, her hands were trembling violently. Even the mention of Carson's return had power to shake her whole being.
Mrs. Portal came in, looking thin and worn, but with her little gay air that carried everything along and made people forget to observe that her eyes were ringed, and her cheeks drawn, or what colour she was dressed in. Laughing and apologising, she implored Poppy to give a glance at the back of her gown to see if it was all right.
"Really, I believe I laced it with my toes," she said. "My hands haven't had a moment since daybreak.... Come along, or we shall be late, and have to sit glued to the wall all night.... Miss Allendner, you simply take the shine out of us all in that gown ... you areallshine ... I never saw any one so shamefully magnificent.... Come along, good peoples." She pushed thepleased old soul gently out of the room before her, and Bramham and Poppy followed. Miss Allendner was, indeed, at her best in a shining sequined gown, which Mrs. Portal had been at some pains to reconstruct and bring up-to-date.
Eventually they set off—Poppy still carrying her bunch of orange leaves, faintly scenting the carriage. Sometimes when the others were absorbed in talk, she secretly pressed them against her heart. She felt as though she had gone back again to the days of her childhood, when misery claimed her, and there was no hope of comfort, or strength, or kindness, from anything but trees and green leaves. She was glad that she wore her mother's old green brooch and that there were great pieces of green malachite in the high Empire comb she had stuck in her piled-up crown of black, black hair; she needed all the strength that green things could give her to-night.
One of the first people they saw on entering was Mary Capron, standing in the centre of the ball-room, a little crowd of people about her, supremely beautiful in black lace and diamonds. She came over to them at once with a little loving pat of welcome for Clem and a brilliant smile for the others. She half extended her hand to Poppy, in friendliness; but Poppy turned away from her. She could not welcome the touch of a hand that had smitten happiness out of her life. They all moved down the big ball-room together. There were little groups everywhere of laughing men and women, and the seats that ran all round the room were all occupied. The bandsmen up on the stage, massed with palms and flags and greenery, were making quivery-quavery sounds on their instruments.
Other women came up and greeted them.
"What a crush!... we shall have the gowns torn off our backs when the dancing begins ... don't youthink it was a mistake to have the ball so early?... so hot still!"
Behind her Poppy heard one of the Maritzburg women say to the other in a low voice:
"Clem's got paint on again.... She never used to do it ... I wonder if Bill has been badly hit in the slump? There'ssomethingwrong!"
"I hear that Nick came in from the camp at the last moment. Do you think it could possibly be true, Clem?" said Mrs. Capron.
"That depends on who told you."
"Young Head. He said he heard someone say that Nick and your Billy were both at the Club. Perhaps they are going to surprise us by appearing." Mrs. Capron's voice did not express much enthusiasm. Clem's eyes flashed like lightning round the room, in search of young Head, and she saw him immediately, busily collecting dances. She had an inclination to rush straight over to him, but she curbed it. Another inclination that almost overwhelmed her was to fly from the hall, and take a rickshaw to the Club; but she curbed that too, though to do so cost an effort that threw up her rouge-spots more clearly by reason of the increased pallor of her cheeks. She continued to talk easily.
"How did you get here, Mary?"
"I drove down with Mrs. Lace. How do I look, darling? This is myMachinkagown ... you haven't seen it before, have you?"
"Perfect, dear. I never saw you look more beautiful.... Isn't Poppy wonderful to-night, too? ... she looks like a woman who has stepped out of a dream ... no wonder the men crowd round her. If I could only catch her eye, we'd move on."
When Poppy's card was all but full, a voice said at her elbow:
"Don't forgetme." Nothing could have looked more out of place in that gay ball-room than Abinger's scarred, sardonic face. But he stood there, cool and irreproachably dressed.
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid there are none left."
"I am unfortunate." He shrugged and turned away, and Poppy, looking round for the others, caught Clem Portal's face with the mask off for one moment. With that sight her faltering, fainting purpose changed to firm resolution. Softly she called after Abinger, but when he reached her again she seemed breathless.
"I have a dance ... number five—" She held out her card, and while he wrote upon it she spoke again, swiftly and low. The preliminary soft bars of the first waltz were already floating down the room.
"Will you please be where I can see you—and reach youinstantly... if I should want you?"
A slight, bitter smile came to his lips.
"Certainly! The middle of the room would be a good place, I should say."
Her eyes blazed at him for a moment. Then a subtle, alluring look crossed her face, for all her lips were the lips of a ghost. She half whispered to him:
"Do you want me—Luce?"
Her eyes looked into his for one short instant before she veiled them quickly, and her heart seemed to turn over within her, for desire stalked, naked and unashamed, in the eyes of Luce Abinger.
"Do I want you. By God!" he said, under his breath.
"Well—to-night—I think I may come—home," she faltered; then without another word or look she turned away, and took Bramham's arm for the first waltz.
Abinger did not approach her again; neither did he dance. He lounged conspicuously in a doorway, and if anyone spoke to him, he snarled at them and they wenthastily away. When the fifth dance came, he waited until the music began; then walked across to where Poppy was sitting, offered his arm nonchalantly, and they took the floor together. When they had been dancing for a few moments he spoke:
"Poppy ...to-night?"
"To-night," her pale lips gave back answer. Her feet moved in time to the waltz, but she lay half fainting in his arms. He had the daring to bend his head and touch her face with his burning lips. Amid the flashing lights of jewels, and the whirling faces, it was almost safe to have gone unnoticed; everyone was too busy to watch what others were doing.
But there happened to be a man standing in a doorway, hiding his grey travelling tweeds behind two or three immaculates, who were trying to persuade him that it would be quite a remarkable joke if he would come in as he was, and pirouette amongst the dancers.
"Come on now, Carson ... give us a taste of the old Karri of old, mad days," a Rand man was saying; and Carson, though listening and laughing, was watching two people in the room. So it happened that he saw the kiss—and the woman's face almost lying on Abinger's shoulder. How could he know that she was dazed, half unconscious, not knowing what she did, or caring? Abruptly he pushed through the laughing group and stood full in the doorway. For an instant he was on the verge of trampling over everyone in the room to get to those two and tear them apart; for an instant the other men thought they were going to have a return of mad Carson with a vengeance, and were sorry they had spoken; one of them laid a hand on his arm. But in that instant a woman's eyes had met Carson's—long, topaz-coloured eyes, full of eager welcome and tenderness. The next moment he had flung away from the other men, and was striding through thewide vestibule, down the Town Hall steps towards a rickshaw, to take him God knew where. As he put his foot on it a hand fell to his shoulder, and Brookfield's voice to his ear—full of relief.
"Carson! By gad! I'm glad you're back; Capron's cut his throat, and they say he's dying at the Club. Come on!"
Carson stared at him with a stunned air.
"Capron!" he stammered.
"Yes; sliced his head off nearly. He was too drunk to go home, so they hid him in Ferrand's room at the Club with Portal in charge. But while Portal was out of the room for a moment, Nick found Ferrand's best razor."
"Well, I can't come," said Carson roughly, after a pause. "I have business of my own."
"You'vegotto come, Karri. He's raving for you. Someone said you'd arrived, and Ferrand told me to find you, or he'd have another hæmorrhage. Come on, now. He won't keep you long; he's booked!"
Carson cursed and muttered, but eventually they got into the rickshaw and went off together.
Five minutes later a woman shrouded in a long, black satin cloak, her head muffled in veils, slipped down the steps and beckoned a rickshaw. In a whisper she directed theboyand told him to hurry.
At about an hour after midnight Clem came to Poppy, who was sitting out a dance with a peaceful partner, and drawing her aside said:
"Dear, something awful has happened to Nick Capron and Mary can't be found. I fancy she must have been feeling ill and gone home without telling anyone. Anyway, Mr. de Grey and I are going to see. I've askedBramham to take you home as soon as you would like to go.... the others will want to dance until dawn.... Billy is at the Club, too, it appears."
"I'll come now," said Poppy quickly, forgetful of everything in the momentary excitement.
"No; I can't wait for you, dear, as I'm ready. Better come on with Mr. Bramham or Mr. Abinger. Suppose you and Miss Allendner wait at Sea House for me?... It's an easy drive from the Club.... I'll call for you there, and we'll all go up home together.... it will probably be painful, breaking the news to poor Mary. I'll come as soon as I can afterwards." She hurried away, and Poppy, excusing herself to her partner, went to the dressing-room for her wraps. On her way she met Abinger, told him swiftly what had happened, and asked him to find Miss Allendner. But when she emerged from the dressing-room Abinger and Bramham were waiting for her, minus the companion.
"She was dancing so happily for the first time to-night, that I hadn't the heart to drag her away," said Abinger, with unheard-of benevolence. The truth was that Miss Allendner did not at all enter into his plans for the evening, and so he had not bothered to look for her.
The three of them left the hall together and reached Bramham's carriage, which had been sent for. Afterwards they drove away in the direction of Sea House. Bramham, with permission, smoked moodily out of a window, and Abinger, without permission, under cover of the uncertain light, took Poppy's hand; but it lay like a smooth, cold stone, and gave no response to his hot hold. His hands were as bad as his eyes; by just holding a woman's hand for three seconds, he could tell her things which for her soul's sake she had avoided knowing all her life.
They were a silent party when they arrived at Sea House. In the dining-room they sat down and Bramhamdrummed his fingers on the table, wondering where Carson was. Luggage was lying in the verandah, and Bramham's note was open on the table; but of Carson himself no sign.
Inspiration came to Abinger to go and rout out the servants to make coffee and sandwiches, for there was a distinct chill in the air, and as none of them had partaken of any supper to speak of, they felt weary and collapsed. As it happened, the servants had not gone to bed, so the coffee soon made its appearance, and at Poppy's suggestion a further supply was ordered to be ready for Mrs. Portal and de Grey. They sat at the table, and Poppy poured out the coffee; but Bramham was restless and began to walk the room, staring out at the night, and then into Carson's room, which led from the dining-room, and the door of which stood ajar. Once he sniffed the air, and then stopped and listened.
Abinger smiled sourly at him.
"Whose trail areyouon, Bram?"
"There's something odd in the air—some unusual scent," was the answer.
"Perhaps Miss Chard can account for it," suggested Abinger. Bramham ventured near her, sniffing still.
"I never use scent," said she, "but I, too, seem to smell some heavy scent."
"Someone's been here," said Bramham, convinced, and thereupon called in theboysagain and questioned them in Zulu.
"No—no one had been," they said, "excepting onlyIntandugaza, who had remained but a little while and gone away very angry."
Both Abinger and the white woman in the white gown who sat by the table understood Zulu, and heard for the first time now of Carson's arrival that evening. To Abinger the fact did not mean much. But Poppy satstaring with frozen lips at her bunch of orange leaves which lay now upon the table. Also, she was listening intently. It seemed to her that the sea, rustling and whispering on the beach at the foot of the garden, had a message for her that she had often heard before, but had never understood. Dimly, for the first time, the meaning of its mysterious sighing was creeping into her weary brain.
"Rest, rest, rest—peace—rest," it whispered and sang.
Bramham came to the table, took another sandwich, and ate it walking about the room.
"Well, I can smell something," he averred, as though making a new statement. "Can't you, Abinger?"
"Oh, have some more coffee, Bram. Your nerves have gone back on you."
Poppy poured him out another cup.
"We are all odd to-night," she said, with a wan smile.
"It must be the news about poor Nick Capron," Bram said, and was just taking his coffee-cup from her hand when they thought they heard a sound. They looked at each other. It was a gentle little sound, and might have been anything imagination suggested—a groan, or a cough, or an exclamation. They waited intently to hear it repeated, but it never came again. Abruptly Bramham caught up a lamp—the lamp with Mrs. Brookfield's little pink-silk shade upon it, and walked towards the only door of the room that was open. It was the door of Carson's bedroom—Poppy's eyes saw that in a moment. She and Abinger had risen and followed Bram, and stood behind him in the doorway. Her eyes took in every detail of the wide, breezy room; the long, green curtains at the windows, the heavy oak furniture, the guns, and whips, and rods standing about, the books—and a big photograph of Mrs. Portal's gay-sad face, smiling, on the mantelpiece.
Then she went back to her chair and listened once more to the whispering sea:
"Rest, rest—peace, rest."
"I swear I heard someone say 'Oh!'" said Bramham angrily.
"Look under the bed," mocked Abinger.
"Look under it yourself, my dear fellow!"
They returned to the dining-room.
"What a beast of a night!" continued Bramham explosively. "What is one to do? I've a good mind to take a run up to the Club and see whether I can do anything, or where the others are ... shall I? Will you people come too?"
"No," said Poppy quietly. "We'll stay here. I have something to say to Mr. Abinger."
At any other time Bramham might have found this remark surprising, but on this upside-down night, when nothing had happened as it should have done, and the air was full of odd scents and sounds, he merely thought it in keeping with the rest of things, so he departed, without even taking his hat.
NICK CAPRON lay on a bed in one of the bedrooms of the Club—a sobbing, raving, blaspheming figure, fearful in bandages sodden with blood, his arms strapped to the sides of the bed to keep him from tearing at his throat. The doctor and Portal stood by, regarding him, one with a calm, professional eye, the other with a wet forehead. Carson sat on a chair at the foot of the bed with a face like a stone wall, staring straight before him, his hands in his pockets.
The injured man spoke continuously in a gurgling, guttural way, half of his words intelligible, the other half maniacal. His main plaint was for the sight of Carson, whom he had not recognised.
"I wish you'd fetch Carson ... there's no one like old Karri ... he's worth the whole damned boiling of you ... besides, I have something to say to him ... if I am booked for the last stretch I'd like Karri to see me off.... Oh, blazes! what the——is this at my throat? Carson! Karri—where is my devoted wife, too?Sheought to be here to speed the parting guest ... Mary—a damned iceberg ... but I'd like some ice.... Give me some ice, Karri——"
After a time the narcotic administered began to take effect, and the watchers were relieved from the strain of listening to these ravings. Ferrand and Portal took drinks and sat down to wait for the coming of Mrs. Capron.
"—And an infernal long time she is about it," said Ferrand. "What doyouthink, Karri?"
If Carson had an opinion on the subject he did not state it, but he roused himself and looked at the time. It was nearly half-past one.
"I must get home," he muttered. "If you want me Ferrand, you can telephone to Bramham's house. I want to see Bramham," he added absently.
Ferrand cocked a professional eye at him.
"You're used up, Carson. Go home and sleep, but first see if you can find Mrs. Capron, there's a good chap. We can't have this over again when he comes to. Shemustbe here and that's all there is to it. You can use my cart if you like, to get home in. Get a rest, old man ... you look just aboutpeleela... take my cart."
Carson accepted the offer and went out, followed by Portal through the silent rooms of the Club to the front verandah.
Ferrand's red-wheeled dog-cart, with its coolie-driver, usually formed part of the street furniture, for the doctor had a happy habit of leaving it outside the Club door, going in and settling down to poker and forgetting all about it. But at the moment it was nowhere to be seen, the fact being that the man, tired of sitting still, had begun to walk the horse, and was now out of sight at the far end of the street.
There was not a rickshaw to be seen; they were all waiting for revellers outside the Town Hall. Fatigue was beginning to tell on Carson: he rapped out a bad and bitter word.
"Cheer up!" said Portal blithely. "You'll soon be dead!"
It was a well-worn expression, and Carson was accustomed to it, but upon this occasion it jarred. Something in Portal's voice was jarring, too. Now that Carson came to remark it, for the first time that evening there was something wrong with Portal's appearance as well as hisvoice. Instead of being in evening-dress, he had on a brown tweed morning-suit, in which, to judge by its appearance, he might have been knocking about the veldt for several weeks. On the other hand, his face was as bloodless and sallow as if he had been shut in a cellar for a month, and his eyes were sunk deep in his head. Withal, he was cheerful, full of suppressed excitement—almost it might be said that he was gay. After many years in Africa, Carson was accustomed to all kinds of moods and tenses in his friends; also, being an intimate of Portal's, he was aware that the latter possessed a troublesome liver. But somehow, none of these things could quite account for the extraordinary aspect and manner of Portal to-night. Under the powerful rays of a street light which fizzled and hummed close by, Carson observed him intently.
"What's the matter with you, Bill? You look queer. Anything wrong? ... besides Capron, I mean...?"
The other responded with apparent composure.
"No, nothing. I'm only glad to see you, Carson, that's all. I'd no idea you were back from the Rand. I had arranged to go up there after you, but——"
"When? What for?" asked Carson in surprise. He was unable to make head or tail of Portal's speech.
"Oh, nothing; just wanted to see you. You're a fascinating chap."
Carson gazed at him.
One of Portal's hands spasmodically gripped and ungripped the verandah rail. With the other he appeared to be holding something stiff in the right pocket of his coat. He continued to talk in parables.
"I went as far as Maritzburg, but I came back to-night to put my affairs into shape and write a few letters—then those fellows came in and asked me to take charge of Capron ... I left him asleep, I thought ... I was writing a letter to—well, never mind who to—when Iheard a row ... and there was Capron ...he'd got ahead of me."
"But, good Lord! what do you mean?" Carson burst out. "What's wrong with you? Have your finances gone smash?" he brought an iron hand down on the restless one gripping the verandah railing. The stiff article in Portal's pocket twitched. Carson's career had been adventurous and dangerous, but he had never been nearer death than at that moment. Entirely unconscious of the fact, he went on speaking.
"If you've had a smash-up, Bill, everything I've got is at your disposal.... I've just made a good turn-over in the market.... I thought I should need it, for ... butmycastle is in ruins.... You can have it if it's any good to you."
"Thanks, Carson—my finances are all right."
"Then what in thunder's the matter with you?—haven't you got the only good woman in this filthy country I'd like to know! I could swear totwountil to-night.Now, if it were not for your wife, I should say they were all rotten to the core ... false as—Oh, well, what's the use?" he turned wearily away.
"Have you spoken to my wife since you got back?" asked Portal. He had come closer and was staring intently into Carson's odd eyes as if searching for something there. His gay air was gone; he breathed heavily.
"I haven't spoken to any woman—except a devil in the train to-day—for nearly three weeks. And after to-night I think I'll be able to exist without 'em forever. But I saw Mrs. Portal from the door of the Town Hall; and she looked to me remarkably ill. Isthatyour trouble?"
Portal did not answer at once, and Carson turned on him austerely and keenly. "If it's any other woman, don't expectmeto sympathise with you—I could forgive any man that but you—bah! but it couldn't be ...impossible!... Look here, Bill, I may as well tell you something now ... you can take it how you like ... I'm not ashamed of it ... I was in love with your wife for years ... she has never known it for one moment ... but I loved her crazily—everything and everyone else went by the board ... until I met her I was—well, I needn't tellyouwhat I was—no follower of Plato, anyway—and you can take this how you please, too—I am not going to pretend that there was anything platonic about my feeling for her ... there wasnot.... But, because she never turned her eyes my way ... or stepped down once in all the years I've known her and you from her shrine ... it got finer and finer until it got to be the highest, finest thing in my life, and anything decent that I've ever done was because of it."
Portal had turned his head away before Carson had finished and appeared to be looking at something down the street. The thought came to Carson that he was either indifferent or not listening.
"Ah, well!" said he, angry to have wasted his confidence and yet too weary to be angry long. "I daresay this doesn't interest you much ... you know, of course, that dozens of men have been in love with your wife ... she's one of the women men can't help loving with all that's decent in them—any more than one can help loving one's mother. A love like that is like a star in the sky of a man's life ... a star that shows the way to the east.... And ifyouare one of those fellows that don't know when a star has come down to you, why——"
Portal turned a shaken, strange face to the other man.
"Carson, you must excuse me; I'm queer to-night ... I've been listening to Capron's ravings until I'm nearly raving myself ... but I think I understand ... I begin to see through it all.... Women do andsay strange things in the name of Love!... But Iknowthat what you say is true—I believe in you, Karri."
Carson could not pretend to understand the meaning of this, and moreover, Ferrand's cart was at the door, and the sickening remembrance of his own broken hopes was upon him.
"Well, good-night, old man.... I must go home. If anything I've got can be of any use to you, let me know." He held out his hand and Portal gripped it.
"Good-night, Karri—I'm going home, too." His face was transformed.
Carson never solved the problem of that conversation with Portal; never knew how near death he had been, never knew how his accidental confidence had saved his life and given back her husband to Clem Portal. Indeed, he never remembered much about his interview with Portal at all. The memory of it was lost amongst the crowded events of that phantasmagorial night.
Ferrand's coolie spun the cart along at a great rate behind the doctor's best polo pony. Just as they turned into West Street a flying rickshaw passed them, but though Carson heard a man's voice hailing he did not respond. Mrs. Portal and de Grey were in the rickshaw returning from long and vain seeking for Mrs. Capron, and it was de Grey who shouted, thinking he recognised the doctor's cart in the darkness.
But even if Carson had known, he would not have stopped. He had been too long delayed from his own affairs, and he was driving now to get ease from the torture burning in his brain and searing his heart. His thoughts were fixed on one thing now—an interview with Bramham.
"He's the only honest man amongst us, by Heaven!" he said loudly, so that the coolie driver gave him a nervous glance, and drew away. "The only one I'd take the trouble to believe."
He stopped the cart at the gate of Sea House, and told the man to go back to the Club, then strode away up the sea-sanded path. Lights gleamed brilliantly from the dining-room, but silence reigned, and every other part of the house was dark as death. Walking through the verandah with light, swift feet and into the dining-room, he came upon Poppy and Abinger sitting there, facing each other across a corner of the table. There were tears on her face, and one arm was flung out before her with the gesture of one who has thrown the dice on a last and desperate venture. Abinger's hand lay on hers.
They stood up as Carson sped into the room, his eyes blazing light in his dark face, and before anyone could speak he reached Abinger and without word or warning struck him a tremendous blow between the eyes, felling him to the floor, where he lay quite still. Then he took the girl by the throat—the long, white throat that shone in the darkness.
"By God! I must kill you!" he said, and his voice was whispering like the sea's. She heard him; but she made no movement upward of her hands, though the pressure on her throat was terrible to bear. She closed her eyes and prepared to die. The thought slipped into her mind then that it would be good to have rest at last from the ache and storm of life. That was the message the sea was whispering.
"Rest, rest ... peace ... rest!"
After a long while she opened her eyes and found that she was sitting in the same chair she had previously risen from. Bramham's broad back was before her, but she could see Evelyn Carson leaning heavily against the wall like a drunken man, and Abinger seated in another chair delicately wiping his lips. His scar had opened, and bloodwas trickling down it. The silence was broken by Bramham's voice—quite calm and pleasant.
"If you want to kill each other, take a brace of revolvers and go out and do it decently somewhere in the open, where it won't make a mess—killing Miss Chard, however, is quite another matter."
Again silence prevailed. Later, Carson said collectedly:
"She can live—if she wants to"—he gave her a look that lashed across her face like a whip, leaving it distorted. "Let them both live, and be damned to them!"
The tone and expression of bitter pleasantry Bramham had adopted, died away.
"Well!youfellows from home—!" he began, and looked from face to face. Abinger continued to wipe blood delicately away, but he did not wipe the sneer from his lips. The girl had the face of a little tired, weeping child: the sight of it turned Bramham's heart to water. He put out a hand to Carson, appealingly:
"God! Karri, what is it?"
The paleness of Carson under his tan had once more given place to an inartistic-grey tint, and his eyes were dull; but he appeared strangely composed.
"Nothing, Bram," he said. "Only to find the girl you love—less than nothing."
A cry broke upon their ears, and all started and stared about them, especially at the open door of Carson's room, from whence that muffled, involuntary sound had come. A stiffness came over them; their masks slipped on. What unknown person had listened to the wild words that had been spoken?
Suddenly Bram remembered the sensations and scents that had assailed him earlier in the night; catching up the same pink-shaded lamp, he once more entered Carson's room. He gave one searching glance about him, and then instinct took him to the only possible cover—a narrowcurtained recess in which to hang clothes. He thrust his hand between the curtains. Mary Capron spared him further trouble—she swept out from the recess, and from the room, giving him one burning glance of hatred as she passed.
In the dining-room she stood still, the centre of attraction for the second time that night. Her cloak had fallen from her shoulders, and her beautifully-coifféhair was ruffled and limp, her eyes were long gleams of topaz light in a carved-stone face. And for some reason she poured the full measure of her rage and scorn upon poor Bramham, who had dazedly followed her, stepping carefully to avoid her train, and standing there now with the little pink lamp in his hand.
"Have you peered and pried enough?" she asked, piercing him with her eyes. "Is your curiosity satisfied—now that you have dragged me out? I came here to speak to Evelyn Carson—hearing voices, I foolishly hid.... Is your taste for scandal appeased?"
Poor, gallant, woman-loving Bramham! He paled and started, like a man who has unexpectedly been struck in the face; then, turning, still dazed, he walked away with the lamp in his hand from the room, and from the house—hishouse! In the pathway he discovered the lamp in his hand and put all his strength and disgust into flinging the hapless thing with a crash into a bush.
In the room the girl, still sitting in her chair, but with an awakening look of amazement and hope upon her face, said some words very softly to Mary Capron:
"So you lied! ... false woman! ... andbase friend!"
But Mary Capron turned from her. Shaking with rage and defeat, she flung a torrent of low, rushing words at Carson.
"Youlove this girl ... girl! ... her confessions to Luce Abinger here to-night were not very girlish ... Icould not hear all that she said to him, but I heard enough.... She told him that she gave herself to some man in a garden three years ago ... that she belongedonlyto that man and could never love any other——"
"No more," broke fiercely from Carson's white lips.
"But youshallhear!" she cried, flinging out a hand and catching his arm. "She has had a child... she boasted of it ...the child of the man in the garden.... Do you deny it? Do you deny it?" she cried, turning to Poppy. But Poppy did not deny, did not speak: only lifted her head proudly and smiled.
"There ... there ... you see?... let her deny it if she can!"
Stiffly Carson turned his head now and looked at Poppy; his lips twisted like a man's who is tasting poison; his eyes demanded.
"Yes, I have borne a son," she said simply.
For a moment there was such a silence as is found in rooms where the dead are lying. Then Mary Capron broke it again:
"She is proud of it!... Yousee... you see what you love? Is it possible that for a woman likethat... that forheryou can turn from my love, I who would let men brand me in the face for you—who——"
"Oh, for God's sake!—are you mad?... be silent." Carson caught her hands roughly and made to draw her away. But she was beyond herself. "And now Nick is dying ... I have heard them saying it ... and they are looking for me to go to him, but I will not ... I will not!... I will stay here with you, Eve—I am terrified of blood—I—" she finished on a high note that was almost a shriek, for Abinger had risen quietly from his chair in the corner and was before her with his scarred, bleeding face. Then at last she was silent. What there was to be said, Abinger said—blandly, softly.
"Oh! I think you had b-better come, Mary. It will not be the first t-time you've seen a man cut about. You remember the night this was done?" He touched his face and she shrank away blenching. "The night Carmen punished me foroursins. You were quite brave then. You saw the whole performance without uttering a scream or a cry that might have brought people to the scene and discovered you. No one should blame you for that, but—I think you could be brave enough to see Nick." He held out his hand to her. She shrank from him, wilting with shame, her eyes frozen in her face; but he was inexorable.
"I think you had better come. It seems to me that you have said enough for one night to Carson and Miss Chard. She is free of me for ever—I have told her so. And Carson is free of you. Is not that plain to you? They love each other ... let us leave them to settle their affairs. You and I—have many old memories to discuss—unless you would rather discuss them here?"
She went at that, with hurrying feet; and the man with the bleeding, smiling face followed her.
Carson and Poppy were left alone. They stared into each other's eyes with an agony of love and longing and fear. Anger was all gone from Carson's face; only fear was there—fear that was terror. It was the girl who stood now; he had fallen into a chair, wearily, desperately.
"Is it true?" he muttered; "is it true, after all?—a child!" His own sins were forgotten in this overwhelming, bitter revelation.
She went over to him, and kneeled between his knees.
"Yes; it is true, Eve ...yourchild! ... child of the night you dreamed that poppies grew upon the eternal hills....I am Poppy!Do you not know me?" He sat up straight then and looked down at her, looked downdeep into the glimmering eyes. "I am Poppy," she said, and her voice was wine in a crystal beaker. She dragged the malachite comb from her hair, and it came tumbling down upon her shoulders in long black ropes. "I am Poppy who gave you all her gifts."
The sea helped her; it sent into the room a strong, fresh wind that blew the veils of her hair across his face and lips. He breathed sharply. God! What strange scent of a lost dream was here? What sweet, elusive fragrance of a most dear memory!
He took hold of her hair as though he would have torn it from her head. A light was in his face—he drew her to him, staring into her eyes.
"Poppy? ...Poppy!...nota dream?...Notthe ravings of fever?... Poppy!" He held her hair across his face as though smelling some wonderful flower.
"Eve ... did you not say to me, 'If I were stricken blind in this hour—'" she stopped.
"'—from ten thousand women I could search you out by the scent of your hair,'" he finished.
Again they stayed long, staring into each other's eyes. Staring—glance falling to glance and rising again; staring with the brave, shame-stricken looks that women give to men they adore and endow, and men to women they rob, and bless—and rob again. Strange that two people who love each other cannot for long bear the ardent flame of each other's eyes.
"Part of it is lost—for ever," he said at last.... "Gone! ... only fragments remain. But there never was a dream like the dream we dreamt on that lost night." And after a long time:
"Poppy—where is my son?"
She lifted her eyes to him. The tears which she could never shed for herself would always come rushing forth for that sweet memory.
"All my love could not keep him, Eve."
She pulled a child's framed face from her bosom and held it up to his eyes. He saw the little familiar face he had looked at once before, pictured in a field of corn and poppies, and trembled. He gave it one swift, sorrowful look and then he wrapped his arms about her, and she lay on his breast.
"Do you regret?" he asked. "Have you ever regretted? Oh, God! how can I ask?"
"No, no," she cried, but her voice was faint. Even while she spoke she knew—none better than she—how vain were denials against the truth of the past. How all their memories and all their gladness to come must ever be salted with pain and tainted with the bitter gall of regret. How, when she laid a child in his arms, their thoughts would terribly fly to that lost son of a lost dream lying far from them in an alien land. They were transgressors—and the reward of transgressors must ever be theirs!
Not much more was said. Only enough to chase the shadows of others from the road of life they meant to take together and make it clear before them. For the rest—they had all the years to come in which to understand and suffer and forgive.
He thought of the turmoil and transgression and "tremendous disarray" of his life—and of dark, still nights far away in Borapota, with this woman of his dreams by his side—and his heart sent up a cry that was not unworthy of it.
"O, Lord God—forgive me my sins!"
When Bramham came into the room long after, she was still kneeling there in her white gown and her loosened hair, and she thought it no shame for him to find her so.She rose to her feet and gave him her hand, and he held it closely, preciously—for he, too, loved this woman.
"Thank God that out of this jumble and carnage comes one good thing!" he said. "Yourship is home in port. Take her out to the gate, Carson. Mrs. Portal is waiting, and they're going to pick up Portal at the Club. Capron will recover, Ferrand says."
When Poppy had hastily fastened her hair, and Carson had wrapped her in her cloak, they went down to the gate where Clem waited half in and half out of a carriage window. Her face was radiant, too. She drew Poppy in beside her.
"Are you two happy?" she whispered. "So am I." But she told nothing of the golden moment that had been hers within the past hour, when, in the darkness of the Club verandah, a big, sullenly handsome man had taken her in his arms and just whispered:
"Forgive!—Loraine!"
She was that lovely thing, a close woman.
THE quay at the Point was crowded with people to see the sailing of theTunis. The English Government had chartered the vessel specially to take Sir Evelyn Carson, his men, stores, horses, guns, mining and agricultural machinery, and all the other quantities of things needed in the great business of opening up and civilising the latest possession of the Empire—to Borapota.
The sailing of the ship was, of course, an event of great public interest, but Sir Evelyn had, at the last moment, provided a further and electrifying sensation by being quietly married that morning to the distinguished African authoress,Eve Destiny; and his wife was accompanying him to Borapota on theTunis.
Durban considered itself badly treated in not having been inviteden masseto witness the ceremony; also, in being cheated of introspective discussion of the match, by having no faintest prenotion of it. But it was not to be done out of at least a parting glimpse of the principals in this unexpecteddénouement. And so it happened that the quay was crowded, for the fashionable world had come down like the Assyrians, and everyone with the slimmest claim to the acquaintance of Carson or his wife made occasion to visit theTunisbefore the hour of sailing. The rest of the world was obliged to be content with lining the docks and blackening the Breakwater.
Just after twelve, with the tide at full, preliminary sirens and scrunching of chains began to be heard, andword was given for people to leave theTunis. That was a sign for everyone to come on deck, and the curious watchers ashore got a chance at last of seeing the special object of their curiosity. She appeared in the companionway door, smiling, with her hand through the arm of her great friend, Mrs. Portal; behind were a little group of men with Eve Carson towering in their midst.
Lady Carson was still wearing the gown she had been married in, and she looked vividly beautiful. Shimmering leaf-green draperies swept the decks, under a long coat of pale-grey velvet, and her poem face was shadowed by a plumed, grey hat. Her husband thought that she looked like the incarnation of Ireland—and than the beauty ofthatimagination could no further go.
She and Clem Portal, alone together for the first time in all that busy, eventful day, walked a little apart to make their farewells, and the eyes of the men followed them, resting naturally on the vivid glowing woman in the shimmering green-and-grey. Her husband's were the only eyes that did not follow her. He had given her one deep, long glance at the altar; and since then had not looked her way. His tanned face wore the impassive, almost cataleptic expression that men assume when they wish to conceal deep emotion from the eyes of the world. But he walked as one whom the gods have chosen to honour. Bramham strongly suspected him of suffering from what is known among men as—a swagger in the blood!
"I expect he feels tall enough to pull the sky down to-day," was the loyal fellow's thought, and he smiled affectionately and put an arm on Karri's shoulder.
Clem and Poppy walked along the deck together. They did not say much. Only, under cover of a big, grey velvet sleeve, and a stole of delicate lace Clem wore, their hands were tightly clasped together. The Portals would begone from Africa before Eve Carson's five years' work in Borapota was over; and where, or when, the two women would meet again was a matter that lay upon the knees of the gods. Neither wished to let one word of regret mar the gladness of the day; but each knew how deeply the other felt the parting.
"Oh, Clem!" Poppy said at last, with something like a sob in her voice. "It is all so wonderful—to be out of the 'tangled wild' at last, with the clear, open land before us! Can it be true? I have had so many blows in the face, and I am so undeserving of this great happiness—can it be true?"
"Chance is more just than we are!" Clem softly quoted. "Poppy, before we part I must tell you something ... about my name—Loraine. Bill wants me to tell you ... and he saysyou will know why. It is my own name, dear—but I have never allowed anyone to call me by it but Bill. When people love each other very muchyou know—they give each other little secret gifts that no one else must know of—this was one of mine to Bill. All the world can call me Clem—butLorainewas only for him. Others came to know of it by accident, but I never gave anyone the right to call me by that name but Bill——"
Poppy held the little brown, thin hand more tightly.
"I know, I know, darling," she fervently said. She could not at this time tell Clem how much else she knew—all that Carson had told her of the secret love he had borne for Clem for many years; but she had no feeling of bitterness now, or anger concerning that love. Clem went on, a little hurriedly, for time was flying:
"I had another reason too—under my mask I am dreadfully superstitious and primitive. All the Loraines in my ancestral history have lost those whom they loved—in some tragic way. I am afraid of history. Oh, Poppy! when one loves ... when one loves ... one is afraid ofeverything." She turned white and began to tremble. "Howfearfulone is! I have been so fearful always for Bill ... that I have never even dared showhimhow much I care. I always think if I am silent, silent, silent ... never bragging, never telling of my soul's idolatry, God will be merciful to me." She was trembling like a leaf, and stammering with pallid lips—this calm, well-masked, self-possessed woman of the world. Never before had any woman's eyes seen past the barriers into the inmost chapel of Clem Portal's heart. And Poppy, overwhelmed, could only tenderly say:
"Dear Clem ... thank you.... God bless you!" Bramham bustled up.
"We've got to clear out, Mrs. Portal ... they're going to haul up the gangway!" He turned to Poppy. "And the siren is hooting us out of your paradise. Well, Lady Carson! the world will expect wonderful things from your pen up in the silences of Borapota!"
She smiled at him with radiant, misty eyes.
"Let it expect. I shall never be able to write any more, Charlie. I can never do anything again but live. I know how tolive."
The others joined them then, and the whole group moved gangwaywards, individual remarks swamped in general farewells, jests, laughter, good wishes. All were ashore at last, leaving Poppy and Carson standing alone, side by side, with the keen winter sunlight bright upon them.
When they could no longer recognise friendly faces to wave to, they turned and looked at each other. Catalepsy disappeared from Carson's face—it grew boyish, ardent, gay.