CHAPTER VIIITHE OFFERIn many respects the change from their lodgings up the hill to the Anchor Hotel by the fishing-quay was for the better, and as the days went on and winter drew near Maud realized this. Bunny's room had a southern aspect, and it was only on dull days that they needed a fire before evening. It possessed a French window also, which was an immense advantage; for it was perfectly easy to wheel him out on to the stone verandah outside it, and here he would lie in his own sheltered corner for hours; watching the sea and the shore and the passers-by, and sometimes talking to the very infrequent visitors who came at that season to "The Anchor."He and Maud lived their lives apart from the rest of the establishment, an arrangement which Mrs. Sheppard deplored although she knew it to be an eminently wise one. Her husband, who never lost an opportunity to revile the girl who always treated him with the same aloof distance of manner, bitterly resented the circumstance that so limited his chances of what he styled "taking her down a peg." He hated her with the rancorous and cruel hatred of conscious inferiority, savagely repenting his undertaking to provide for her. They did not often clash because Maud steadfastly avoided him. And this also he resented, for he was in effect simply biding his time to drive her away. She was a perpetual thorn in his side, and he seized every chance that presented itself of inflicting some minor humiliation upon her. His antipathy had become almost an obsession, and he never saw her without flinging some gibing taunt in her direction.And those taunts of his rankled deep. Maud's feelings towards him were of a very deadly order. If she had not avoided him, she knew that she could not have remained. But for Bunny's sake she endured his insults when contact with him became inevitable. She could not be separated from Bunny, and she knew of no other haven.Towards Bunny, Sheppard displayed no ill feeling. He had small cause to do so, for the boy was kept rigorously out of his way, and his mother was more than willing to leave the entire care of him to Maud. In fact there were sometimes whole days on which she scarcely saw him. The change that Maud had foretold on her wedding-day had already begun in her. She had quitted her own world without a pang, and was sunning herself in the warmth of her husband's rough devotion. As she herself expressed it, she was getting really fond of Giles, whose brutish affection for her was patent to all.Maud suppressed a shudder whenever she encountered any evidence of it, and as a result he was always noisier and coarser in his demonstrations before her face of white disgust. What wonder that she rigidly avoided him and insisted upon taking all her meals with Bunny?In this way she avoided his loud-voiced friends also,--another frequent cause for offence!--all, that is, save one. That one was Jake Bolton; and, since Bunny had so decreed it, this man came and went exactly as he chose.She never raised the smallest objection to his presence, but she certainly never welcomed him. In fact she generally took advantage of his coming to leave Bunny for a space and it even became a recognized thing between them that she should avail herself of the leisure thus provided to run down to the shore for the brief recreation which was never obtainable in any other way.Very often she would not return until after Jake's departure, and so on the whole, though they met so frequently, she actually saw but little of him. He was Bunny's pal, and--obedient to the inner warning--she was firmly determined that he should never become hers.He did not seem inclined to combat this determination, but on the other hand he never relinquished by a hair's breadth the position he had taken up at the beginning of their acquaintance. It was impossible to snub him. He never heard a snub. He never advanced, and he never retreated. He simply stood firm, so that after a time her uneasiness began to die down almost in spite of her, and she even came to look upon him in a very guarded way as a friend in need. He could do anything in the world with Bunny, and though she was half-suspicious of his influence she could not deny that he invariably exercised it in the right direction. He had even begun to implant in Bunny a wholly novel and sometimes almost disconcerting consideration for herself. Bunny was more tractable just then than he had ever been before. It was the only bright spot in her sky.It was on an afternoon in late November that she went down to the shore during one of Jake Bolton's visits to her brother, and watched the fishing-fleet come in through a blur of rain. The beach looked dank and sodden and there were trails of mist in the air. Dusk was just beginning to fall, and it would be a wet night. But the air blew in off the water sweet and southerly, and it did her good to breath it.She walked the length of the parade twice, and finally, as the fishing-smacks dropped one by one into the harbour on the further side of the quay, turned homewards, feeling invigorated and considerably the happier for the brief exercise.She wondered if Jake meant to stay to tea. He did not often do so, only, on the very rare occasions when she added her invitation to Bunny's. She supposed she would have to ask him to-day if she found him still there when she returned. But she hoped she would not. She liked him best when he was not there.Regretfully she turned her back upon the heaving waters, and crossed the road to the Anchor Hotel. It was growing rapidly dusk.She reached the entrance, and was stretching out a hand towards the swing-doors when one of them opened abruptly from within and Jake stepped out. He was smoking a cigarette, and he did not in the first moment perceive her. She drew back in an instinctive effort to escape notice.But he stopped short almost immediately and accosted her."Ah! Is that you? I was just wondering where you were."Her thoughts flew to Bunny. "Am I wanted?" she asked quickly.He checked her with a gesture. "No, the lad's all right. It's I who want you. Can you spare me a minute?"It was impossible to refuse, but she did not yield graciously. Somehow she never could be gracious to Jake Bolton."I ought to go in," she said. "It is getting late.""I shan't keep you long," he said, and she noticed that it was plainly a foregone conclusion with him that she would grant him what he asked.She turned back into the misty darkness with a short sigh of impatience."Walk to the end of the parade with me!" he said, and fell in beside her.Later she wondered why she did not lodge a more energetic protest, for it was beginning to rain in earnest; but at the time it seemed inevitable that she should do as he desired.She re-crossed the road with him, and turned to walk to the nearest end of the parade. They approached the spot where he had once laid peremptory hands upon her and drawn her out of danger. It was as they neared it that he suddenly spoke."I am sorry to have brought you out again into the wet. Will you come into the shelter?"She acquiesced. The shelter was empty. She stepped within it and stood waiting.He took out his cigarette and after a moment dropped it and set his heel upon it."I want to speak to you about your brother," he said. "And, by the way, before I forget it, I've promised to trundle him up to the Stables next Sunday to show him the animals. You will come too, won't you? I can give you tea at my house. It's close by."Maud's eyes opened a little. The suggestion somewhat startled her, and she resented being startled. "You are very kind," she said coldly. "But I don't think we can either of us do that.""I am not in the least kind," said Jake. "And will you tell me why you are offended with me for suggesting it?""I am not--offended," she said, feeling herself grow uncomfortably hot over the assertion. "But--I think you might have proposed this to me before mentioning it to Bunny.""But what's the matter with the proposal?" he said. "The boy was delighted with it.""That may be," Maud said; and then she paused, feeling suddenly that she was being absurdly unreasonable. She blushed still more hotly in the gloom, and became silent.Jake stretched out one steady finger and laid it on her arm. "Don't take fright at nothing!" he said, in an admonitory tone. "If you're going to shy at this, I reckon you'll kick up your heels, and bolt at my next suggestion."She drew herself away from his touch, standing very erect. "Perhaps you would be wiser not to make it," she said."Very likely," agreed Jake. "But--as you object to my mentioning things to your brother first--I don't see how you can refuse to listen."This was unanswerable. She bit her lip. "I am listening," she said."And the answer is 'No,' whatever it is," rejoined Jake, with a whimsical note in his soft voice. "Say, Miss Brian, play fair!"She felt somewhat softened in spite of herself. "I have said I will listen," she said."With an unbiassed mind?" he said."Of course." She spoke impatiently; she wanted to get the interview over, and she more and more resented his attitude towards her. There was something of the superior male about him that grated on her nerves."All right," said Jake. "I'll go ahead. If you will condescend to come up to my place on Sunday, I will show you a man--one of our jockeys--who was injured in just the same way that your brother is injured, and who is now as sound as I am. He was operated upon by an American doctor called Capper--one of the biggest surgeons in the world. It was a bit of an experiment, but it succeeded. Now what has been done once can be done again. I chance to know Capper, and he is coming to London next spring. He makes a speciality of spinal trouble. Won't you let him try his hand on Bunny? There would be a certain amount of risk of course. But wouldn't it be worth it? Say, wouldn't it be worth it, to see that boy on his legs, living his life as it was meant to be lived instead of dragging out a wretched existence that hardly deserves to be called life at all?"He stopped abruptly, as if realizing that he had suffered his eagerness to carry him away. But to Maud who had begun to listen in icy aloofness that same eagerness was as the kindling of a fire in a place of utter desolation.For the moment she forgot to be cold. "Oh, if it were only possible!" she said. "If it only could be!""Why can't it be?" said Jake.She came back with something of a shock to the consciousness of his personality. She drew back from the warmth that he had made her feel."Because," she said frigidly, "doctors--great surgeons--don't perform big operations for nothing.""I don't think Capper would charge an out-of-the-way amount if he did it for me," said Jake."Perhaps not." Maud spoke in the dead tone of finality.He leaned slightly towards her. "Say, Miss Brian, aren't you rather easily disheartened? Wouldn't your people scrape together something for such a purpose?""No," she said."Are you quite sure?" he urged. "Won't you even ask 'em?"She turned from him. "It's no good asking," she said, her voice low and reluctant. "The only relation we possess who might help won't even answer when I write to him.""Why don't you go and see him?" said Jake. "Put the thing before him! He couldn't refuse."She shook her head. "It wouldn't be any good," she said, with dreary conviction. "Besides, I couldn't get to Liverpool and back in a day, and I couldn't leave Bunny for longer. And--in any case--I know--I know it wouldn't be any good," she ended, with half-angry vehemence."I wish the little chap were my brother," said Jake.Maud was silent. Somehow her vehemence had upset her; she had an outrageous desire to cry.Jake was silent too for a few seconds; then abruptly he squared his shoulders and spoke with aggressive decision. "Miss Brian, a good friend is nearer than a dozen beastly relations. With your permission--I'll see this thing through.""Oh no, no!" she said quickly. "No, no!""For the boy's sake!" he said."No!" she said again.There fell a sudden silence. Then, in an odd voice Jake said, "Bunny told me--only to-day--with pride--that there was nothing in the world that you wouldn't do for him."She made a sharp movement of protest. "I can't take--what I could never repay," she said, speaking almost below her breath. "Neither shall Bunny.""There are more ways than one of paying a debt," said Jake.He looked almost formidable standing there in the twilight with his legs well apart and unabashed resolution in every line of his sturdy figure.She faced him with a sinking sense of her own inferior strength. His self-assertion seemed to weigh her down. She felt puny and insignificant before it. As usual she sought refuge in stately aloofness. She had no other weapon, and at least it covered the beating of her heart."I am afraid I don't understand you," she said."Shall I explain?" said Jake; and then, as she was silent: "Can't you see I'm making a bid for your friendship?"She froze at the effrontery of the words."Oh yes," said Jake. "I quite understand. I'm only tolerated for Bunny's sake. Isn't that so? You're too proud to associate with a clod like me. But for all that--though you'll never look at me--I'm not afraid to let you know that I've taken a fancy to you. You've never contemplated such a fool idea as marriage with me, I know: but you go home and contemplate it right now! Ask yourself if you wouldn't find a husband like me less nauseating than a step-father like Giles Sheppard! Ask yourself if the little chap wouldn't stand a better chance all round if you brought him along to me! I reckon we'd make his life easier between us even if Capper couldn't make him walk. He's too heavy a burden for you to carry alone, my girl. You weren't created for such a burden as that. Let me lend a hand! I give you my solemn oath I'll be good to you both!"A tremor of passion ran through his last words, and his voice took a deeper note. Maud, upright and quivering, felt the force of the man like the blast of a tearing gale carrying all before it. She would have left him at the commencement of his speech, but he blocked the way. She stood imprisoned in a corner of the shelter, steadying herself against the woodwork, while the full strength of his individuality surged around her. She felt physically exhausted, as though she had been trying to stand against a tremendous wind.Several seconds throbbed away ere she could trust herself to speak without faltering. Then: "Please let me pass!" she said.He stood back instantly and she was conscious of a lessening of that mysterious influence which had so overwhelmed her."Are you angry--or what?" he said.She gathered her strength, and stepped forth, though she was trembling from head to foot."Yes, I am angry," she said, forcing her voice to a certain measure of calmness notwithstanding. "I have never been so insulted in my life!""Insulted!" He echoed the word in unfeigned astonishment; then, as she would have left him, put a detaining hand upon her arm. "Say, Miss Brian! Since when has a proposal of marriage constituted an insult in your estimation?"He spoke with something of a drawl, but it compelled attention. She stopped, resisting the desire to shake herself free from his touch."A proposal of marriage from you could be nothing else," she said very bitterly. "You take advantage of my position, but you know full well that we are not equals.""Oh yes, I know that," he said. "But--is any man your equal?""I meant socially of course," she said, beginning to recover her composure and her dignity."I see." Jake's voice was very level. "And that is why you are upset--angry?""It is a very sufficient reason," she said."Yes, but is it--as things now are? There is another point of view to that problem. If you had been leading a happy, sheltered life in your own sphere--that might have been a reason for me to hold off. You might with justice have scorned my offer. But--as things are--as things are--" he spoke with strong insistence. "Is it taking advantage of your position to want to deliver you from it? It's a beastly position--it's a humiliating position. And I gather you've no prospect of deliverance. Well, I offer you a way of escape. It mayn't be the way you would choose, but--there are worse, many worse. I'm not a bad sort, and I've got a soft spot in my heart for that little brother of yours. Say, Miss Brian, do you despise me so badly that you can't even give the idea your impartial consideration?"He spoke whimsically, but there was a rough dignity about him nevertheless which had an undeniable effect upon her. She could no longer spurn him with contempt, though neither could she yield a single inch to his persuasion."It would be quite useless for me to consider it," she said. "I am sorry if I was rude to you just now, but your suggestion rather took my breath away. Please understand that it is quite, quite impossible!""All right," he said. "Still you won't dismiss it quite entirely from your mind? That is to say, you'll hold it in reserve just in case a way of escape becomes essential to you. I shan't break my heart about it, but neither shall I change my mind. The offer remains open day and night just in case the emergency might arise which would make you willing to avail yourself of it."He took his hand from her arm, and she felt that the interview was over.Yet he walked beside her as she began to move away, and crossed the road again with her to the entrance of the hotel."And one thing more," he said, as they reached it. "I have no wish or intention to force myself upon you, so if--to please Bunny--you can bring yourself to accompany the pair of us on the Sunday expedition to see the stud, you need not be afraid that I shall attempt to take advantage of your position again."The colour flamed up in her face at the few, leisurely words. He seemed to possess the power of calling it up at will.She stood on the first step, looking down at him, uncertain whether to be haughty or kind.He moved close to her, and by the lamplight that streamed through the glass doors she saw his frank, disarming smile."And look here!" he said. "Don't fling cold water on that other scheme for Bunny that I broached to you, yet! You never know what may turn up."The smile decided her. She held out her hand to him. "But, you know, I couldn't--I really couldn't--" she said rather incoherently.He gave the hand a firm grip and released it. "No. All right. I understand. But think about it! And don't run away with the idea that I planned it just for your sake! I'd like jolly well to be of use to you. But--in the main--it's the lad I'm thinking of. You do the same! After all, it's second nature with you to put him first, isn't it?""He always will come first, with me," she said. "But I couldn't--I can't--incur such an obligation--even for him.""All right," said Jake, unmoved. "Class it with the impossibles--but, all the same, think about it!"He was gone with the words, striding away down the street without a backward glance.Maud was left alone with the warm blood still in her cheeks and an odd feeling of uncertainty at her heart. She felt baffled and uneasy like a swimmer in deep waters, aware of a strong current but still not wholly at its mercy, nor wholly aware of its force and direction. She did not mean to let herself be drawn into that current. She hung on the edge of it, trying to strike out and avoid it. But all the time it drew her, it drew her. And--though she would not admit it even to herself--she knew it and was afraid.CHAPTER IXTHE REAL MANThat Sunday of their visit to the Burchester Stables was a marked day with Maud for the rest of her life.The Stables were situated on the side of a splendid down about a mile from the sea. Lord Saltash's estate stretched for miles around, and he practically owned the whole of Fairharbour. Burchester Castle was the name of the seat, an ancient pile dating from Saxon times that had belonged to the Burchester family since the days of the Tudors. Charlie Burchester had inherited it from his uncle five years before; but he did not live in it. He had occasional wild house-parties there, especially for the event of the Graydown Races. And he sometimes spent a night or two when the mood took him to visit the stud. But for the most part the house stood in empty grandeur, its rooms shuttered and shrouded, its stately gardens deserted save for the gardeners who tended them.Exquisite gardens they were. Maud had a glimpse of them from the height of the down--terraced gardens with marble steps and glistening fountains, yew-walks, darkly mysterious, quaintly fashioned, pines that rustled and whispered together. The house was securely hidden from view among its trees."It used to be a nunnery," said Jake. "Its inhabitants had a chaste objection to publicity. It's an interesting old place, about a mile from the Stables. I'd like to show it to you some time. You'd enjoy it.""Not to-day," said Bunny quickly.Jake smiled at his tone. "No, not to-day, lad. We'll go and see the animals to-day."He had brought them up the long, winding private road which, though smooth enough, was a continual ascent. Maud had wanted to help with the invalid-chair, but he had steadily refused any assistance. She marvelled at the evident ease with which he had accomplished the journey, never hurrying, never halting, not even needing to pause for breath, untiring as a wild animal in its native haunts. She remembered the nickname he bore on the Turf, and reflected that it fitted him in more than one respect. He was so supple, so tough, so sure.Suddenly those bright eyes flashed round on her. "Say, you're tired," he said, in his queer, lilting voice. "We'll have tea first.""No!" cried Bunny on the instant. "We'll do the Stables first, Jake. It's not time for tea. Besides, tea can wait."Jake's brown hand came over the back of the chair and filliped the boy's cheek. "Shut up, my son!" said Jake.Maud stared at the action. Bunny turned scarlet.Jake unconcernedly continued his easy progress. "Reckon the animals won't die if we don't inspect 'em till after tea," he said. "What's your idea, Miss Brian?""If Bunny wishes to go straight to the Stables--" she began.He interrupted. "Bunny has changed his mind. Ain't that so, Bunny?""I don't care," said Bunny rather sullenly."All right then," said Jake. "Tea first!"He wheeled the chair into a great gateway that led into a wide stone courtyard. White-washed stables were on each side of them and at regular intervals large green tubs containing miniature fir-trees. At the further end of the courtyard stood a square, white-washed house."That's my shanty," said Jake.It was a very plain building; in former days it had been a farm. There was a white railing in front and a small white gate flanked by another pair of toy firs. The whole effect was one of prim cleanliness."There's a bit of garden at the back," said Jake. "And a summer-house--quite a decent little summer-house--that looks right away to the sea. Now, Bunny lad, there's a comfortable sofa inside for you. Think I can carry you in?""Can't you take in the chair?" Maud asked nervously.Jake looked at her. "Oh yes, I can. But the passage is a bit narrow. It's not very easy to turn.""Of course he can carry me, Maud. Let him carry me!" broke in Bunny, in an aggrieved tone. "You make such a stupid fuss always."Jake had thrown open the door of his home. "You go in, Miss Brian!" he said. "Turn to the right at the end of the passage, and it's the door facing you."She went in reluctantly. The passage was small and dark, oak-panelled, low-ceiled."Go right in!" said Jake.She did not want to turn her back on Bunny, but she knew that the boy would resent any lingering on her part. She passed down the passage and turned as Jake had directed.The door that faced her stood open, and she entered a long, low room, oak-panelled like the passage, with a deep, old-fashioned fireplace in which burned a cheery wood fire. Two windows, diamond-paned, and a door with the upper panels of glass occupied the whole of the further side of the room, and the western sunshine slanting in threw great bars of gold across the low window-seats.Tea had been set on a table in the middle of the room, to the corner of which a sofa had been drawn. There were bed-pillows as well as cushions on the sofa. Evidently Jake had ransacked the house to provide comfort for Bunny.Maud stood just within the doorway listening, dreading to hear the indignant outcry that generally attended any movement of the poor little crippled body. But she heard nothing beyond Jake's voice murmuring unintelligibly, and in a few seconds the steady tread of his feet as he entered the house.Then, while she stood listening, the feet drew near and there came a pleased chuckle from Bunny. Jake came squarely in, carrying him like an infant, and deposited him with infinite care among the cushions that Maud hastily adjusted for his reception."There you are, my son," he said. "Make yourself as much at home as you can!"Bunny looked about him with keen interest. "Oh, I say, what a jolly room! What a ripping room! You're beastly lucky to live here, Jake.""Oh, yes, it's a decent little crib," said Jake. "Those doorsteps were just made for an evening pipe."He indicated the closed glass-panelled door. Maud went to it and found that the ground sloped sharply away from this side of the house, necessitating a flight of several steps. They led down into a sunny space that was more orchard than garden,--fruit-trees and grass spreading down the side of the hill towards the magic, pine-screened grounds of Burchester Castle.Jake came and stood beside her for a moment. He was being studiously impersonal that day, an attitude which curiously caused her more of uneasiness than relief."The arbour is at the end by those apple-trees," he said. "You can just see the roof from here. It looks over the field where we train. It's sport to watch the youngsters learning to run. Lord Saltash calls it the grand stand.""Do you know Lord Saltash?" broke in Bunny. "He used to be a great pal of ours once.""Oh, that was years ago--in London," said Maud quickly. "No doubt he has quite forgotten our existence by this time."She spoke with unwitting sharpness, hotly aware that the lynx-like eyes of her host were upon her.Bunny took instant offence. "I'm sure it wasn't years ago, Maud; and you know it wasn't. It isn't more than two since we saw him last--if that. As to forgetting all about us, that isn't very likely, considering the mother was one of his bad debts.""Bunny!" Maud began in rare anger.But in the same moment Jake swung calmly round. "Say, Bunny, do you like shrimps?" he asked. He moved to Bunny's side and stood looking down at him. "I got some in case. Miss Brian, I hope shrimps are good for him, are they?""She doesn't know," said Bunny irritably. "What's the good of asking her? Of course I like shrimps! Aren't we going to begin soon? I want to go and see the horses.""You seem to be in an all-fired hurry," observed Jake. "Left your manners behind, haven't you?" He took out his watch. "Half-past three! All right, my son. We'll go at four, Miss Brian, do you mind pouring out?"He set a chair for her facing the window, and sat down himself next to Bunny.It seemed to Maud that, seated there in his own house, she saw him under a new aspect. He played the host with ability and no small amount of tact.He talked mainly about the stud, interesting her in a subject which she had never before viewed at close quarters. He described various events in which some of his charges had won distinction, and presently, to Bunny's keen delight; he began a brief but stirring description of an attempt to tamp with one of the animals two summers before on the eve of one of the Graydown Races. Some inkling of the intended attempt had reached him, and he himself had lain in wait to frustrate it."But how?" cried Bunny breathlessly."I decided to spend the night in the loose-box," said Jake. "There's no hardship in sleeping alongside a good horse. I've done it many a time. I wasn't so intimate with Lord Saltash then as I am now, but I knew enough not to be altogether surprised when he came sliding into the stable-yard a little after midnight in a two-seated car and made straight for the loose-box where I was. The top half of the door was ajar, and there was a dim lamp burning in the yard, but his head-lights showed up everything like day. He pushed the top half right back and leaned his arms on the lower and said, 'That you, Bolton?' I got up and went to him. There was no one else about. 'I've put myself in charge this trip,' I told him. 'You needn't be nervous.' He grinned in a sickly sort of fashion and said, 'I am nervous--deuced nervous, and I'll tell you why. If that brute runs to-morrow I'm a ruined man.' And then he started jawing about some fool wager he'd made, said he was under the thumb of some rascally booky, and actually began to try and talk me into spoiling the animal's chances."Jake paused. He was looking at Maud as if he expected something.She looked back at him, her head very high, her eyes shining defiantly bright. "Lord Saltash has a double apparently?" she said."Now, that's real clever of you!" said Jake, with a smile. "Yes, that is the key to the mystery, and I soon grasped it. He offered me a large sum of money to prevent Pedro running. Pedro was listening to the transaction with his head on my shoulder. I said yes to everything, and then I suggested that we should settle the details outside where there was no chance of witnesses. He agreed to that, and I picked up my whip and got into his car after him, and we slipped out and ran about half-a-mile into the Park where I stopped him."Jake paused again, still looking expectantly at the girl facing him. She was flushed but evidently not greatly moved."What a thrilling recital!" she said.And, "Go on!" urged Bunny impatiently.Jake laughed a little. "I felt rather a skunk myself. He was so sweetly unsuspicious, till I used the cowboy clutch on him and tied up his arms in his own coat. That opened his eyes, but it was a bit too late. He was in for a cowhiding, and he realized it, scarcely showed fight, in fact. I didn't let him off on that account, and I don't suppose he has forgotten it to this day. I didn't quite flay him, but I made him feel some.""And you let him go afterwards?" questioned Bunny."Yes, I let him go." Jake took up his cup and drank in a contemplative fashion. "After that," he said, in his slow way, "I went back to Pedro, and we finished the night together. But--I don't know whether having his rest disturbed upset his nerves any--he only managed to come in second after all.""And Lord Saltash?" said Maud abruptly. "Did you ever tell him what had happened?""Oh yes," said Jake. "I told him the following evening, and he laughed in his jolly way and said, 'Well, I'm glad you weren't taken in, but I'm glad too that you let the poor devil go. A leathering from you couldn't have been any such joke.' It wasn't," added Jake grimly. "It was as unlike a joke as a blue pill is unlike raspberry jam.""But what became of the real man?" questioned Bunny. "Did he get clean away?""Clean away," said Jake. "And now--if you're ready--we'll go and see the hero of that episode.""Who was the hero?" asked Maud, with a hint of sarcasm as she rose.He looked at her with a faint smile. "Why, Dom Pedro, of course," he said. "Come along and make his acquaintance!"CHAPTER XTHE HEAD OF THE FAMILYIt was among the horses that Maud at length saw Jake Bolton in his true element. They were all plainly very dear to his heart. He introduced them as friends. His pockets were stuffed with sugar which both she and Bunny helped to distribute, and not till dusk came upon them did they realize the lateness of the hour.It was at the last minute that Jake suddenly summoned a little man who was lounging in the gateway. "Here, Sam! I've been telling the lady about your tumble and how they put you together again. It interested her."Sam approached with a sheepish grin. "I thought I was a goner," he said. "But Mr. Bolton--" he looked at Jake and his grin widened--"he's one of the Never-say-die sort. And the Yankee doctor, well, he was a regular knock-out, he was. Mended me as clean--well, there, you wouldn't never have known I'd had a smash."One eye wandered down to Bunny in his long chair as he spoke; but he discreetly refrained from comment, and it was Bunny who eagerly broke in with: "What happened to you? Was it your spine? Let's hear!"Sam was only too willing to oblige. He settled down to his story like a horse into its stride, and for nearly a quarter of an hour Maud stood listening to the account of the miracle which, according to Sam Vickers, the great American doctor had performed.Bunny drank it all in with feverish avidity. Maud did not like to watch his face. The look it wore went to her heart.She did not want to glance at Jake either though after a time she felt impelled to do so. His eyes were fixed upon Bunny, but on the instant they came straight to hers as if she had spoken. She avoided them instinctively, but she felt them none the less, as though a dazzling searchlight had suddenly and mercilessly been turned upon her, piercing straight to her soul.It was soon after this that he quietly intervened to put an end to Sam's reminiscences. It was growing late, and they ought to be moving.Maud agreed; Bunny protested, and was calmly overruled by Jake. They started back through a pearly greyness of dusk that heralded the rising of the moon. They spoke but little as they went. Bunny seemed suddenly tired, and it did not apparently occur to either of his companions to attempt to make conversation.Only, as they descended the winding road that led down to Fairharbour and a sudden clamour of church-bells arose through the evening mist, Jake glanced again at the girl who was walking rather wearily by Bunny's side, and said, "Wouldn't you like to go to Church now? I'll see to the youngster."She shook her head. "Thank you very much; I don't think so.""Oh, go on, Maud!" exclaimed Bunny, emerging from his reverie. "I don't want you if Jake will stay. I'd sooner have Jake. He doesn't fuss like you.""I'll get him to bed," Jake went on, as if he had not spoken. "You can trust me to do that, you know. I won't let him talk too much either. Say, Miss Brian, it's a good offer; you'd better close with it."She heard the smile in the words; and because of it she found she could not refuse. "But I don't like to give you so much trouble," she said."You give me pleasure," he answered simply.At the gate of the churchyard he stopped. "I'll say good-bye," he said. "But don't hurry back! I shall stay as long as I am wanted."She knew that she could rely upon him in that respect as upon no one else in the world. She gave him her hand with another low word of thanks."May I walk to the door with you?" he said, and drew Bunny's chair to one side.It would have been churlish to refuse. She suffered him in silence.The church was on an eminence that overlooked the harbour. Reaching the porch, the whole wide view of open sea lay spread before them, flooded in moonlight. The clanging bells above them had sunk to stillness. A peace that seemed unearthly wrapped them round. They stood for the moment quite alone, gazing out to the far, dim sky-line.And suddenly Maud heard the beating of her heart in the silence, and was conscious of an overwhelming sense of doom.With an effort that seemed to tear at the very foundations of her being, she turned and walked down a narrow path between the tombstones. He followed her till in breathless agitation she turned again."Mr. Bolton!"Her voice was no more than a whisper. She was thankful that her face was in shadow.He stood silently, his eyes, alert and bright, fixed intently upon her."I must ask you," she said, "--I must beg you--to regard what I said the other day as final. If I am friendly with you, I want you to understand that it is solely for Bunny's sake--no other reason.""That is understood," said Jake.She drew the quick breath of one seeking relief. "Then you will forget that--that impossible notion? You will let me forget it too?""I shan't remind you of it," said Jake."And you will forget it yourself?" she insisted.He lowered his eyes suddenly, and it was as if a light had unexpectedly gone out. She waited in the dark with a beating heart.And then with a great clash the bells broke out overhead and further speech became impossible. Jake wheeled without warning, and walked away.She stood and watched him go, still with that sense of coming fate upon her. Her heart was leaping wildly like a chained thing seeking to escape.As for Jake, he rejoined Bunny and squarely resumed the journey back to the town, without the smallest sign of discomposure.He seemed somewhat absent, however, trudging along in almost unbroken silence; and it was not until he laid the boy down at length in his own room that he said, "Now, look here, youngster! If you can't be decently civil to your sister, I've done with you. Understand?"Bunny turned impulsively and buried his face in Jake's sleeve. "All right. Don't jaw!" he begged in muffled accents.Jake remained unmoved. "I've been wanting to punch your head most of the afternoon," he remarked severely."You can do it now if you like," muttered Bunny, burrowing a little deeper.Jake did not respond to the invitation. "Why can't you behave yourself anyway?" he said.He settled Bunny's pillows with a sure hand, and laid him gently back upon them. But Bunny clung to him still."You aren't really savage with me, Jake?" he said."All right. I'm not," said Jake. "But I won't have it all the same; savvy?"He put his hand for a moment on Bunny's head and rumpled the dark hair. Bunny's lips quivered unexpectedly."It's so--beastly--being managed always by women," he said."You don't know when you're lucky," said Jake.Bunny's emotion passed. He looked at his friend shrewdly. "I suppose you're in love with her," he remarked after a moment.Jake's eyes met his instantly and uncompromisingly. "Well?" he said."Nothing," said Bunny. "Of course she's my sister.""And so you think you're entitled to a voice in the matter?" Jake's tone was strictly practical.Bunny's fingers slipped into his. "I'm the head of the family, you know, Jake," he said.The man's face softened to a smile. "Yes, I reckon that's so," he said. "Well? What has the head of the family to say to the notion?"Bunny turned rather red. "You see,--you're not a mister, are you?" he said."Not a gentleman, you mean?" suggested Jake.Bunny's uneasiness increased. He squeezed Jake's hand very hard in silence."All right, little chap," said Jake. "Don't agitate yourself! I'm not what you call a gentleman,--not even a first-class imitation. Let's go on from there! Any other objections?""I don't want to be a cad, Jake!" burst from Bunny. "But you know--you know--she might have done a lot better for herself. She might have married Charlie Burchester.""Who?" said Jake."Lord Saltash," explained Bunny. "We thought--everyone thought--five years ago--that they were going to get married. He was awfully keen on her, and she of course was in love with him. And then there was that row with the Cressadys. Lady Cressady got him into a mess, and Sir Philip always was an obnoxious beast. And afterwards Charlie Burchester sheered off and went abroad. He came back after he succeeded, but Maud--she's awfully proud, you know,--she wouldn't look at him, vows she never will again--though I'm not so sure she won't. He's sure to come back some day. He's such a rattling good sort, and he's jolly fond of her.""And the rest," said Jake drily."No, really, Jake, he isn't a rotter. He's an awfully nice chap. You'd say so if you really knew him.""I do know him," said Jake."And you don't like him?" Bunny's eyes opened wide in astonishment."Yes, I like him." Jake's tone was enigmatical. "But I shouldn't call him a marrying man. Anyway, he won't marry your sister, so you can make up your mind to that! Any other gentlemen in the running?""You couldn't prevent their being married if--if Maud changed her mind," said Bunny.Jake smiled. "Anyone else?" he persisted."No, no one. She never sees anybody now.""Except me," said Jake. "And I'm not genteel enough, hey?""You're a brick!" said Bunny with enthusiasm. "But, you know, women don't see that sort of thing. They only care about whether a man opens the door for 'em or takes off his glove to shake hands."Jake broke into a laugh. "Say, sonny, what a thundering lot you know about women!" he said. "Anyway, I conclude I am right in surmising that you personally could swallow me as a brother-in-law?"Bunny's eyes began to shine. "You're the best fellow I know," he said. "If--if it weren't for Lord Saltash, I wouldn't say a word!""Well," said Jake very deliberately, "I refuse to be warned off on his account. That's understood, is it?"Bunny hesitated. The red-brown eyes were looking full and unwaveringly into his. "I'm not thinking of myself, Jake," he said, with sudden pleading.Jake's hand closed squarely upon his. "All right, old chap, I know; and I like you for it. But I'm taking odds. It's ninety-nine to one. If I win on the hundredth chance, you'll take it like a sport?"Bunny's hand returned his grip with all the strength at his command. He was silent for a moment or two; then, impulsively: "I say, Jake," he said, "--you--you're such a sport yourself! I think I'll back you after all.""Right O!" said Jake. "You won't be sorry."He dismissed the subject then with obvious intention, and Bunny seemed relieved to let it go. He turned the conversation to Sam Vickers, asking endless questions regarding the American doctor and his miracles."I wish he'd come and have a look at me, Jake," he said wistfully at length."Thought you didn't like doctors," said Jake."Oh, a man like that is different. I'd put up with a man like that," said Bunny, with a sigh."You might have to put up with more than you bargained for," said Jake.Bunny moved his head wearily on the pillow. "I don't think anything could be worse than this," he said."I'm glad to hear you say so," said Jake, with sudden force; and then, pulling himself up as suddenly, "No, we won't get talking on that subject. Capper's in America, and you've got to sleep to-night. But you keep a stiff upper lip, old chap! I'm in with you from start to finish. Maybe, some day, we'll work a change.""You're no end of a trump!" said Bunny with tears in his eyes.
CHAPTER VIII
THE OFFER
In many respects the change from their lodgings up the hill to the Anchor Hotel by the fishing-quay was for the better, and as the days went on and winter drew near Maud realized this. Bunny's room had a southern aspect, and it was only on dull days that they needed a fire before evening. It possessed a French window also, which was an immense advantage; for it was perfectly easy to wheel him out on to the stone verandah outside it, and here he would lie in his own sheltered corner for hours; watching the sea and the shore and the passers-by, and sometimes talking to the very infrequent visitors who came at that season to "The Anchor."
He and Maud lived their lives apart from the rest of the establishment, an arrangement which Mrs. Sheppard deplored although she knew it to be an eminently wise one. Her husband, who never lost an opportunity to revile the girl who always treated him with the same aloof distance of manner, bitterly resented the circumstance that so limited his chances of what he styled "taking her down a peg." He hated her with the rancorous and cruel hatred of conscious inferiority, savagely repenting his undertaking to provide for her. They did not often clash because Maud steadfastly avoided him. And this also he resented, for he was in effect simply biding his time to drive her away. She was a perpetual thorn in his side, and he seized every chance that presented itself of inflicting some minor humiliation upon her. His antipathy had become almost an obsession, and he never saw her without flinging some gibing taunt in her direction.
And those taunts of his rankled deep. Maud's feelings towards him were of a very deadly order. If she had not avoided him, she knew that she could not have remained. But for Bunny's sake she endured his insults when contact with him became inevitable. She could not be separated from Bunny, and she knew of no other haven.
Towards Bunny, Sheppard displayed no ill feeling. He had small cause to do so, for the boy was kept rigorously out of his way, and his mother was more than willing to leave the entire care of him to Maud. In fact there were sometimes whole days on which she scarcely saw him. The change that Maud had foretold on her wedding-day had already begun in her. She had quitted her own world without a pang, and was sunning herself in the warmth of her husband's rough devotion. As she herself expressed it, she was getting really fond of Giles, whose brutish affection for her was patent to all.
Maud suppressed a shudder whenever she encountered any evidence of it, and as a result he was always noisier and coarser in his demonstrations before her face of white disgust. What wonder that she rigidly avoided him and insisted upon taking all her meals with Bunny?
In this way she avoided his loud-voiced friends also,--another frequent cause for offence!--all, that is, save one. That one was Jake Bolton; and, since Bunny had so decreed it, this man came and went exactly as he chose.
She never raised the smallest objection to his presence, but she certainly never welcomed him. In fact she generally took advantage of his coming to leave Bunny for a space and it even became a recognized thing between them that she should avail herself of the leisure thus provided to run down to the shore for the brief recreation which was never obtainable in any other way.
Very often she would not return until after Jake's departure, and so on the whole, though they met so frequently, she actually saw but little of him. He was Bunny's pal, and--obedient to the inner warning--she was firmly determined that he should never become hers.
He did not seem inclined to combat this determination, but on the other hand he never relinquished by a hair's breadth the position he had taken up at the beginning of their acquaintance. It was impossible to snub him. He never heard a snub. He never advanced, and he never retreated. He simply stood firm, so that after a time her uneasiness began to die down almost in spite of her, and she even came to look upon him in a very guarded way as a friend in need. He could do anything in the world with Bunny, and though she was half-suspicious of his influence she could not deny that he invariably exercised it in the right direction. He had even begun to implant in Bunny a wholly novel and sometimes almost disconcerting consideration for herself. Bunny was more tractable just then than he had ever been before. It was the only bright spot in her sky.
It was on an afternoon in late November that she went down to the shore during one of Jake Bolton's visits to her brother, and watched the fishing-fleet come in through a blur of rain. The beach looked dank and sodden and there were trails of mist in the air. Dusk was just beginning to fall, and it would be a wet night. But the air blew in off the water sweet and southerly, and it did her good to breath it.
She walked the length of the parade twice, and finally, as the fishing-smacks dropped one by one into the harbour on the further side of the quay, turned homewards, feeling invigorated and considerably the happier for the brief exercise.
She wondered if Jake meant to stay to tea. He did not often do so, only, on the very rare occasions when she added her invitation to Bunny's. She supposed she would have to ask him to-day if she found him still there when she returned. But she hoped she would not. She liked him best when he was not there.
Regretfully she turned her back upon the heaving waters, and crossed the road to the Anchor Hotel. It was growing rapidly dusk.
She reached the entrance, and was stretching out a hand towards the swing-doors when one of them opened abruptly from within and Jake stepped out. He was smoking a cigarette, and he did not in the first moment perceive her. She drew back in an instinctive effort to escape notice.
But he stopped short almost immediately and accosted her.
"Ah! Is that you? I was just wondering where you were."
Her thoughts flew to Bunny. "Am I wanted?" she asked quickly.
He checked her with a gesture. "No, the lad's all right. It's I who want you. Can you spare me a minute?"
It was impossible to refuse, but she did not yield graciously. Somehow she never could be gracious to Jake Bolton.
"I ought to go in," she said. "It is getting late."
"I shan't keep you long," he said, and she noticed that it was plainly a foregone conclusion with him that she would grant him what he asked.
She turned back into the misty darkness with a short sigh of impatience.
"Walk to the end of the parade with me!" he said, and fell in beside her.
Later she wondered why she did not lodge a more energetic protest, for it was beginning to rain in earnest; but at the time it seemed inevitable that she should do as he desired.
She re-crossed the road with him, and turned to walk to the nearest end of the parade. They approached the spot where he had once laid peremptory hands upon her and drawn her out of danger. It was as they neared it that he suddenly spoke.
"I am sorry to have brought you out again into the wet. Will you come into the shelter?"
She acquiesced. The shelter was empty. She stepped within it and stood waiting.
He took out his cigarette and after a moment dropped it and set his heel upon it.
"I want to speak to you about your brother," he said. "And, by the way, before I forget it, I've promised to trundle him up to the Stables next Sunday to show him the animals. You will come too, won't you? I can give you tea at my house. It's close by."
Maud's eyes opened a little. The suggestion somewhat startled her, and she resented being startled. "You are very kind," she said coldly. "But I don't think we can either of us do that."
"I am not in the least kind," said Jake. "And will you tell me why you are offended with me for suggesting it?"
"I am not--offended," she said, feeling herself grow uncomfortably hot over the assertion. "But--I think you might have proposed this to me before mentioning it to Bunny."
"But what's the matter with the proposal?" he said. "The boy was delighted with it."
"That may be," Maud said; and then she paused, feeling suddenly that she was being absurdly unreasonable. She blushed still more hotly in the gloom, and became silent.
Jake stretched out one steady finger and laid it on her arm. "Don't take fright at nothing!" he said, in an admonitory tone. "If you're going to shy at this, I reckon you'll kick up your heels, and bolt at my next suggestion."
She drew herself away from his touch, standing very erect. "Perhaps you would be wiser not to make it," she said.
"Very likely," agreed Jake. "But--as you object to my mentioning things to your brother first--I don't see how you can refuse to listen."
This was unanswerable. She bit her lip. "I am listening," she said.
"And the answer is 'No,' whatever it is," rejoined Jake, with a whimsical note in his soft voice. "Say, Miss Brian, play fair!"
She felt somewhat softened in spite of herself. "I have said I will listen," she said.
"With an unbiassed mind?" he said.
"Of course." She spoke impatiently; she wanted to get the interview over, and she more and more resented his attitude towards her. There was something of the superior male about him that grated on her nerves.
"All right," said Jake. "I'll go ahead. If you will condescend to come up to my place on Sunday, I will show you a man--one of our jockeys--who was injured in just the same way that your brother is injured, and who is now as sound as I am. He was operated upon by an American doctor called Capper--one of the biggest surgeons in the world. It was a bit of an experiment, but it succeeded. Now what has been done once can be done again. I chance to know Capper, and he is coming to London next spring. He makes a speciality of spinal trouble. Won't you let him try his hand on Bunny? There would be a certain amount of risk of course. But wouldn't it be worth it? Say, wouldn't it be worth it, to see that boy on his legs, living his life as it was meant to be lived instead of dragging out a wretched existence that hardly deserves to be called life at all?"
He stopped abruptly, as if realizing that he had suffered his eagerness to carry him away. But to Maud who had begun to listen in icy aloofness that same eagerness was as the kindling of a fire in a place of utter desolation.
For the moment she forgot to be cold. "Oh, if it were only possible!" she said. "If it only could be!"
"Why can't it be?" said Jake.
She came back with something of a shock to the consciousness of his personality. She drew back from the warmth that he had made her feel.
"Because," she said frigidly, "doctors--great surgeons--don't perform big operations for nothing."
"I don't think Capper would charge an out-of-the-way amount if he did it for me," said Jake.
"Perhaps not." Maud spoke in the dead tone of finality.
He leaned slightly towards her. "Say, Miss Brian, aren't you rather easily disheartened? Wouldn't your people scrape together something for such a purpose?"
"No," she said.
"Are you quite sure?" he urged. "Won't you even ask 'em?"
She turned from him. "It's no good asking," she said, her voice low and reluctant. "The only relation we possess who might help won't even answer when I write to him."
"Why don't you go and see him?" said Jake. "Put the thing before him! He couldn't refuse."
She shook her head. "It wouldn't be any good," she said, with dreary conviction. "Besides, I couldn't get to Liverpool and back in a day, and I couldn't leave Bunny for longer. And--in any case--I know--I know it wouldn't be any good," she ended, with half-angry vehemence.
"I wish the little chap were my brother," said Jake.
Maud was silent. Somehow her vehemence had upset her; she had an outrageous desire to cry.
Jake was silent too for a few seconds; then abruptly he squared his shoulders and spoke with aggressive decision. "Miss Brian, a good friend is nearer than a dozen beastly relations. With your permission--I'll see this thing through."
"Oh no, no!" she said quickly. "No, no!"
"For the boy's sake!" he said.
"No!" she said again.
There fell a sudden silence. Then, in an odd voice Jake said, "Bunny told me--only to-day--with pride--that there was nothing in the world that you wouldn't do for him."
She made a sharp movement of protest. "I can't take--what I could never repay," she said, speaking almost below her breath. "Neither shall Bunny."
"There are more ways than one of paying a debt," said Jake.
He looked almost formidable standing there in the twilight with his legs well apart and unabashed resolution in every line of his sturdy figure.
She faced him with a sinking sense of her own inferior strength. His self-assertion seemed to weigh her down. She felt puny and insignificant before it. As usual she sought refuge in stately aloofness. She had no other weapon, and at least it covered the beating of her heart.
"I am afraid I don't understand you," she said.
"Shall I explain?" said Jake; and then, as she was silent: "Can't you see I'm making a bid for your friendship?"
She froze at the effrontery of the words.
"Oh yes," said Jake. "I quite understand. I'm only tolerated for Bunny's sake. Isn't that so? You're too proud to associate with a clod like me. But for all that--though you'll never look at me--I'm not afraid to let you know that I've taken a fancy to you. You've never contemplated such a fool idea as marriage with me, I know: but you go home and contemplate it right now! Ask yourself if you wouldn't find a husband like me less nauseating than a step-father like Giles Sheppard! Ask yourself if the little chap wouldn't stand a better chance all round if you brought him along to me! I reckon we'd make his life easier between us even if Capper couldn't make him walk. He's too heavy a burden for you to carry alone, my girl. You weren't created for such a burden as that. Let me lend a hand! I give you my solemn oath I'll be good to you both!"
A tremor of passion ran through his last words, and his voice took a deeper note. Maud, upright and quivering, felt the force of the man like the blast of a tearing gale carrying all before it. She would have left him at the commencement of his speech, but he blocked the way. She stood imprisoned in a corner of the shelter, steadying herself against the woodwork, while the full strength of his individuality surged around her. She felt physically exhausted, as though she had been trying to stand against a tremendous wind.
Several seconds throbbed away ere she could trust herself to speak without faltering. Then: "Please let me pass!" she said.
He stood back instantly and she was conscious of a lessening of that mysterious influence which had so overwhelmed her.
"Are you angry--or what?" he said.
She gathered her strength, and stepped forth, though she was trembling from head to foot.
"Yes, I am angry," she said, forcing her voice to a certain measure of calmness notwithstanding. "I have never been so insulted in my life!"
"Insulted!" He echoed the word in unfeigned astonishment; then, as she would have left him, put a detaining hand upon her arm. "Say, Miss Brian! Since when has a proposal of marriage constituted an insult in your estimation?"
He spoke with something of a drawl, but it compelled attention. She stopped, resisting the desire to shake herself free from his touch.
"A proposal of marriage from you could be nothing else," she said very bitterly. "You take advantage of my position, but you know full well that we are not equals."
"Oh yes, I know that," he said. "But--is any man your equal?"
"I meant socially of course," she said, beginning to recover her composure and her dignity.
"I see." Jake's voice was very level. "And that is why you are upset--angry?"
"It is a very sufficient reason," she said.
"Yes, but is it--as things now are? There is another point of view to that problem. If you had been leading a happy, sheltered life in your own sphere--that might have been a reason for me to hold off. You might with justice have scorned my offer. But--as things are--as things are--" he spoke with strong insistence. "Is it taking advantage of your position to want to deliver you from it? It's a beastly position--it's a humiliating position. And I gather you've no prospect of deliverance. Well, I offer you a way of escape. It mayn't be the way you would choose, but--there are worse, many worse. I'm not a bad sort, and I've got a soft spot in my heart for that little brother of yours. Say, Miss Brian, do you despise me so badly that you can't even give the idea your impartial consideration?"
He spoke whimsically, but there was a rough dignity about him nevertheless which had an undeniable effect upon her. She could no longer spurn him with contempt, though neither could she yield a single inch to his persuasion.
"It would be quite useless for me to consider it," she said. "I am sorry if I was rude to you just now, but your suggestion rather took my breath away. Please understand that it is quite, quite impossible!"
"All right," he said. "Still you won't dismiss it quite entirely from your mind? That is to say, you'll hold it in reserve just in case a way of escape becomes essential to you. I shan't break my heart about it, but neither shall I change my mind. The offer remains open day and night just in case the emergency might arise which would make you willing to avail yourself of it."
He took his hand from her arm, and she felt that the interview was over.
Yet he walked beside her as she began to move away, and crossed the road again with her to the entrance of the hotel.
"And one thing more," he said, as they reached it. "I have no wish or intention to force myself upon you, so if--to please Bunny--you can bring yourself to accompany the pair of us on the Sunday expedition to see the stud, you need not be afraid that I shall attempt to take advantage of your position again."
The colour flamed up in her face at the few, leisurely words. He seemed to possess the power of calling it up at will.
She stood on the first step, looking down at him, uncertain whether to be haughty or kind.
He moved close to her, and by the lamplight that streamed through the glass doors she saw his frank, disarming smile.
"And look here!" he said. "Don't fling cold water on that other scheme for Bunny that I broached to you, yet! You never know what may turn up."
The smile decided her. She held out her hand to him. "But, you know, I couldn't--I really couldn't--" she said rather incoherently.
He gave the hand a firm grip and released it. "No. All right. I understand. But think about it! And don't run away with the idea that I planned it just for your sake! I'd like jolly well to be of use to you. But--in the main--it's the lad I'm thinking of. You do the same! After all, it's second nature with you to put him first, isn't it?"
"He always will come first, with me," she said. "But I couldn't--I can't--incur such an obligation--even for him."
"All right," said Jake, unmoved. "Class it with the impossibles--but, all the same, think about it!"
He was gone with the words, striding away down the street without a backward glance.
Maud was left alone with the warm blood still in her cheeks and an odd feeling of uncertainty at her heart. She felt baffled and uneasy like a swimmer in deep waters, aware of a strong current but still not wholly at its mercy, nor wholly aware of its force and direction. She did not mean to let herself be drawn into that current. She hung on the edge of it, trying to strike out and avoid it. But all the time it drew her, it drew her. And--though she would not admit it even to herself--she knew it and was afraid.
CHAPTER IX
THE REAL MAN
That Sunday of their visit to the Burchester Stables was a marked day with Maud for the rest of her life.
The Stables were situated on the side of a splendid down about a mile from the sea. Lord Saltash's estate stretched for miles around, and he practically owned the whole of Fairharbour. Burchester Castle was the name of the seat, an ancient pile dating from Saxon times that had belonged to the Burchester family since the days of the Tudors. Charlie Burchester had inherited it from his uncle five years before; but he did not live in it. He had occasional wild house-parties there, especially for the event of the Graydown Races. And he sometimes spent a night or two when the mood took him to visit the stud. But for the most part the house stood in empty grandeur, its rooms shuttered and shrouded, its stately gardens deserted save for the gardeners who tended them.
Exquisite gardens they were. Maud had a glimpse of them from the height of the down--terraced gardens with marble steps and glistening fountains, yew-walks, darkly mysterious, quaintly fashioned, pines that rustled and whispered together. The house was securely hidden from view among its trees.
"It used to be a nunnery," said Jake. "Its inhabitants had a chaste objection to publicity. It's an interesting old place, about a mile from the Stables. I'd like to show it to you some time. You'd enjoy it."
"Not to-day," said Bunny quickly.
Jake smiled at his tone. "No, not to-day, lad. We'll go and see the animals to-day."
He had brought them up the long, winding private road which, though smooth enough, was a continual ascent. Maud had wanted to help with the invalid-chair, but he had steadily refused any assistance. She marvelled at the evident ease with which he had accomplished the journey, never hurrying, never halting, not even needing to pause for breath, untiring as a wild animal in its native haunts. She remembered the nickname he bore on the Turf, and reflected that it fitted him in more than one respect. He was so supple, so tough, so sure.
Suddenly those bright eyes flashed round on her. "Say, you're tired," he said, in his queer, lilting voice. "We'll have tea first."
"No!" cried Bunny on the instant. "We'll do the Stables first, Jake. It's not time for tea. Besides, tea can wait."
Jake's brown hand came over the back of the chair and filliped the boy's cheek. "Shut up, my son!" said Jake.
Maud stared at the action. Bunny turned scarlet.
Jake unconcernedly continued his easy progress. "Reckon the animals won't die if we don't inspect 'em till after tea," he said. "What's your idea, Miss Brian?"
"If Bunny wishes to go straight to the Stables--" she began.
He interrupted. "Bunny has changed his mind. Ain't that so, Bunny?"
"I don't care," said Bunny rather sullenly.
"All right then," said Jake. "Tea first!"
He wheeled the chair into a great gateway that led into a wide stone courtyard. White-washed stables were on each side of them and at regular intervals large green tubs containing miniature fir-trees. At the further end of the courtyard stood a square, white-washed house.
"That's my shanty," said Jake.
It was a very plain building; in former days it had been a farm. There was a white railing in front and a small white gate flanked by another pair of toy firs. The whole effect was one of prim cleanliness.
"There's a bit of garden at the back," said Jake. "And a summer-house--quite a decent little summer-house--that looks right away to the sea. Now, Bunny lad, there's a comfortable sofa inside for you. Think I can carry you in?"
"Can't you take in the chair?" Maud asked nervously.
Jake looked at her. "Oh yes, I can. But the passage is a bit narrow. It's not very easy to turn."
"Of course he can carry me, Maud. Let him carry me!" broke in Bunny, in an aggrieved tone. "You make such a stupid fuss always."
Jake had thrown open the door of his home. "You go in, Miss Brian!" he said. "Turn to the right at the end of the passage, and it's the door facing you."
She went in reluctantly. The passage was small and dark, oak-panelled, low-ceiled.
"Go right in!" said Jake.
She did not want to turn her back on Bunny, but she knew that the boy would resent any lingering on her part. She passed down the passage and turned as Jake had directed.
The door that faced her stood open, and she entered a long, low room, oak-panelled like the passage, with a deep, old-fashioned fireplace in which burned a cheery wood fire. Two windows, diamond-paned, and a door with the upper panels of glass occupied the whole of the further side of the room, and the western sunshine slanting in threw great bars of gold across the low window-seats.
Tea had been set on a table in the middle of the room, to the corner of which a sofa had been drawn. There were bed-pillows as well as cushions on the sofa. Evidently Jake had ransacked the house to provide comfort for Bunny.
Maud stood just within the doorway listening, dreading to hear the indignant outcry that generally attended any movement of the poor little crippled body. But she heard nothing beyond Jake's voice murmuring unintelligibly, and in a few seconds the steady tread of his feet as he entered the house.
Then, while she stood listening, the feet drew near and there came a pleased chuckle from Bunny. Jake came squarely in, carrying him like an infant, and deposited him with infinite care among the cushions that Maud hastily adjusted for his reception.
"There you are, my son," he said. "Make yourself as much at home as you can!"
Bunny looked about him with keen interest. "Oh, I say, what a jolly room! What a ripping room! You're beastly lucky to live here, Jake."
"Oh, yes, it's a decent little crib," said Jake. "Those doorsteps were just made for an evening pipe."
He indicated the closed glass-panelled door. Maud went to it and found that the ground sloped sharply away from this side of the house, necessitating a flight of several steps. They led down into a sunny space that was more orchard than garden,--fruit-trees and grass spreading down the side of the hill towards the magic, pine-screened grounds of Burchester Castle.
Jake came and stood beside her for a moment. He was being studiously impersonal that day, an attitude which curiously caused her more of uneasiness than relief.
"The arbour is at the end by those apple-trees," he said. "You can just see the roof from here. It looks over the field where we train. It's sport to watch the youngsters learning to run. Lord Saltash calls it the grand stand."
"Do you know Lord Saltash?" broke in Bunny. "He used to be a great pal of ours once."
"Oh, that was years ago--in London," said Maud quickly. "No doubt he has quite forgotten our existence by this time."
She spoke with unwitting sharpness, hotly aware that the lynx-like eyes of her host were upon her.
Bunny took instant offence. "I'm sure it wasn't years ago, Maud; and you know it wasn't. It isn't more than two since we saw him last--if that. As to forgetting all about us, that isn't very likely, considering the mother was one of his bad debts."
"Bunny!" Maud began in rare anger.
But in the same moment Jake swung calmly round. "Say, Bunny, do you like shrimps?" he asked. He moved to Bunny's side and stood looking down at him. "I got some in case. Miss Brian, I hope shrimps are good for him, are they?"
"She doesn't know," said Bunny irritably. "What's the good of asking her? Of course I like shrimps! Aren't we going to begin soon? I want to go and see the horses."
"You seem to be in an all-fired hurry," observed Jake. "Left your manners behind, haven't you?" He took out his watch. "Half-past three! All right, my son. We'll go at four, Miss Brian, do you mind pouring out?"
He set a chair for her facing the window, and sat down himself next to Bunny.
It seemed to Maud that, seated there in his own house, she saw him under a new aspect. He played the host with ability and no small amount of tact.
He talked mainly about the stud, interesting her in a subject which she had never before viewed at close quarters. He described various events in which some of his charges had won distinction, and presently, to Bunny's keen delight; he began a brief but stirring description of an attempt to tamp with one of the animals two summers before on the eve of one of the Graydown Races. Some inkling of the intended attempt had reached him, and he himself had lain in wait to frustrate it.
"But how?" cried Bunny breathlessly.
"I decided to spend the night in the loose-box," said Jake. "There's no hardship in sleeping alongside a good horse. I've done it many a time. I wasn't so intimate with Lord Saltash then as I am now, but I knew enough not to be altogether surprised when he came sliding into the stable-yard a little after midnight in a two-seated car and made straight for the loose-box where I was. The top half of the door was ajar, and there was a dim lamp burning in the yard, but his head-lights showed up everything like day. He pushed the top half right back and leaned his arms on the lower and said, 'That you, Bolton?' I got up and went to him. There was no one else about. 'I've put myself in charge this trip,' I told him. 'You needn't be nervous.' He grinned in a sickly sort of fashion and said, 'I am nervous--deuced nervous, and I'll tell you why. If that brute runs to-morrow I'm a ruined man.' And then he started jawing about some fool wager he'd made, said he was under the thumb of some rascally booky, and actually began to try and talk me into spoiling the animal's chances."
Jake paused. He was looking at Maud as if he expected something.
She looked back at him, her head very high, her eyes shining defiantly bright. "Lord Saltash has a double apparently?" she said.
"Now, that's real clever of you!" said Jake, with a smile. "Yes, that is the key to the mystery, and I soon grasped it. He offered me a large sum of money to prevent Pedro running. Pedro was listening to the transaction with his head on my shoulder. I said yes to everything, and then I suggested that we should settle the details outside where there was no chance of witnesses. He agreed to that, and I picked up my whip and got into his car after him, and we slipped out and ran about half-a-mile into the Park where I stopped him."
Jake paused again, still looking expectantly at the girl facing him. She was flushed but evidently not greatly moved.
"What a thrilling recital!" she said.
And, "Go on!" urged Bunny impatiently.
Jake laughed a little. "I felt rather a skunk myself. He was so sweetly unsuspicious, till I used the cowboy clutch on him and tied up his arms in his own coat. That opened his eyes, but it was a bit too late. He was in for a cowhiding, and he realized it, scarcely showed fight, in fact. I didn't let him off on that account, and I don't suppose he has forgotten it to this day. I didn't quite flay him, but I made him feel some."
"And you let him go afterwards?" questioned Bunny.
"Yes, I let him go." Jake took up his cup and drank in a contemplative fashion. "After that," he said, in his slow way, "I went back to Pedro, and we finished the night together. But--I don't know whether having his rest disturbed upset his nerves any--he only managed to come in second after all."
"And Lord Saltash?" said Maud abruptly. "Did you ever tell him what had happened?"
"Oh yes," said Jake. "I told him the following evening, and he laughed in his jolly way and said, 'Well, I'm glad you weren't taken in, but I'm glad too that you let the poor devil go. A leathering from you couldn't have been any such joke.' It wasn't," added Jake grimly. "It was as unlike a joke as a blue pill is unlike raspberry jam."
"But what became of the real man?" questioned Bunny. "Did he get clean away?"
"Clean away," said Jake. "And now--if you're ready--we'll go and see the hero of that episode."
"Who was the hero?" asked Maud, with a hint of sarcasm as she rose.
He looked at her with a faint smile. "Why, Dom Pedro, of course," he said. "Come along and make his acquaintance!"
CHAPTER X
THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY
It was among the horses that Maud at length saw Jake Bolton in his true element. They were all plainly very dear to his heart. He introduced them as friends. His pockets were stuffed with sugar which both she and Bunny helped to distribute, and not till dusk came upon them did they realize the lateness of the hour.
It was at the last minute that Jake suddenly summoned a little man who was lounging in the gateway. "Here, Sam! I've been telling the lady about your tumble and how they put you together again. It interested her."
Sam approached with a sheepish grin. "I thought I was a goner," he said. "But Mr. Bolton--" he looked at Jake and his grin widened--"he's one of the Never-say-die sort. And the Yankee doctor, well, he was a regular knock-out, he was. Mended me as clean--well, there, you wouldn't never have known I'd had a smash."
One eye wandered down to Bunny in his long chair as he spoke; but he discreetly refrained from comment, and it was Bunny who eagerly broke in with: "What happened to you? Was it your spine? Let's hear!"
Sam was only too willing to oblige. He settled down to his story like a horse into its stride, and for nearly a quarter of an hour Maud stood listening to the account of the miracle which, according to Sam Vickers, the great American doctor had performed.
Bunny drank it all in with feverish avidity. Maud did not like to watch his face. The look it wore went to her heart.
She did not want to glance at Jake either though after a time she felt impelled to do so. His eyes were fixed upon Bunny, but on the instant they came straight to hers as if she had spoken. She avoided them instinctively, but she felt them none the less, as though a dazzling searchlight had suddenly and mercilessly been turned upon her, piercing straight to her soul.
It was soon after this that he quietly intervened to put an end to Sam's reminiscences. It was growing late, and they ought to be moving.
Maud agreed; Bunny protested, and was calmly overruled by Jake. They started back through a pearly greyness of dusk that heralded the rising of the moon. They spoke but little as they went. Bunny seemed suddenly tired, and it did not apparently occur to either of his companions to attempt to make conversation.
Only, as they descended the winding road that led down to Fairharbour and a sudden clamour of church-bells arose through the evening mist, Jake glanced again at the girl who was walking rather wearily by Bunny's side, and said, "Wouldn't you like to go to Church now? I'll see to the youngster."
She shook her head. "Thank you very much; I don't think so."
"Oh, go on, Maud!" exclaimed Bunny, emerging from his reverie. "I don't want you if Jake will stay. I'd sooner have Jake. He doesn't fuss like you."
"I'll get him to bed," Jake went on, as if he had not spoken. "You can trust me to do that, you know. I won't let him talk too much either. Say, Miss Brian, it's a good offer; you'd better close with it."
She heard the smile in the words; and because of it she found she could not refuse. "But I don't like to give you so much trouble," she said.
"You give me pleasure," he answered simply.
At the gate of the churchyard he stopped. "I'll say good-bye," he said. "But don't hurry back! I shall stay as long as I am wanted."
She knew that she could rely upon him in that respect as upon no one else in the world. She gave him her hand with another low word of thanks.
"May I walk to the door with you?" he said, and drew Bunny's chair to one side.
It would have been churlish to refuse. She suffered him in silence.
The church was on an eminence that overlooked the harbour. Reaching the porch, the whole wide view of open sea lay spread before them, flooded in moonlight. The clanging bells above them had sunk to stillness. A peace that seemed unearthly wrapped them round. They stood for the moment quite alone, gazing out to the far, dim sky-line.
And suddenly Maud heard the beating of her heart in the silence, and was conscious of an overwhelming sense of doom.
With an effort that seemed to tear at the very foundations of her being, she turned and walked down a narrow path between the tombstones. He followed her till in breathless agitation she turned again.
"Mr. Bolton!"
Her voice was no more than a whisper. She was thankful that her face was in shadow.
He stood silently, his eyes, alert and bright, fixed intently upon her.
"I must ask you," she said, "--I must beg you--to regard what I said the other day as final. If I am friendly with you, I want you to understand that it is solely for Bunny's sake--no other reason."
"That is understood," said Jake.
She drew the quick breath of one seeking relief. "Then you will forget that--that impossible notion? You will let me forget it too?"
"I shan't remind you of it," said Jake.
"And you will forget it yourself?" she insisted.
He lowered his eyes suddenly, and it was as if a light had unexpectedly gone out. She waited in the dark with a beating heart.
And then with a great clash the bells broke out overhead and further speech became impossible. Jake wheeled without warning, and walked away.
She stood and watched him go, still with that sense of coming fate upon her. Her heart was leaping wildly like a chained thing seeking to escape.
As for Jake, he rejoined Bunny and squarely resumed the journey back to the town, without the smallest sign of discomposure.
He seemed somewhat absent, however, trudging along in almost unbroken silence; and it was not until he laid the boy down at length in his own room that he said, "Now, look here, youngster! If you can't be decently civil to your sister, I've done with you. Understand?"
Bunny turned impulsively and buried his face in Jake's sleeve. "All right. Don't jaw!" he begged in muffled accents.
Jake remained unmoved. "I've been wanting to punch your head most of the afternoon," he remarked severely.
"You can do it now if you like," muttered Bunny, burrowing a little deeper.
Jake did not respond to the invitation. "Why can't you behave yourself anyway?" he said.
He settled Bunny's pillows with a sure hand, and laid him gently back upon them. But Bunny clung to him still.
"You aren't really savage with me, Jake?" he said.
"All right. I'm not," said Jake. "But I won't have it all the same; savvy?"
He put his hand for a moment on Bunny's head and rumpled the dark hair. Bunny's lips quivered unexpectedly.
"It's so--beastly--being managed always by women," he said.
"You don't know when you're lucky," said Jake.
Bunny's emotion passed. He looked at his friend shrewdly. "I suppose you're in love with her," he remarked after a moment.
Jake's eyes met his instantly and uncompromisingly. "Well?" he said.
"Nothing," said Bunny. "Of course she's my sister."
"And so you think you're entitled to a voice in the matter?" Jake's tone was strictly practical.
Bunny's fingers slipped into his. "I'm the head of the family, you know, Jake," he said.
The man's face softened to a smile. "Yes, I reckon that's so," he said. "Well? What has the head of the family to say to the notion?"
Bunny turned rather red. "You see,--you're not a mister, are you?" he said.
"Not a gentleman, you mean?" suggested Jake.
Bunny's uneasiness increased. He squeezed Jake's hand very hard in silence.
"All right, little chap," said Jake. "Don't agitate yourself! I'm not what you call a gentleman,--not even a first-class imitation. Let's go on from there! Any other objections?"
"I don't want to be a cad, Jake!" burst from Bunny. "But you know--you know--she might have done a lot better for herself. She might have married Charlie Burchester."
"Who?" said Jake.
"Lord Saltash," explained Bunny. "We thought--everyone thought--five years ago--that they were going to get married. He was awfully keen on her, and she of course was in love with him. And then there was that row with the Cressadys. Lady Cressady got him into a mess, and Sir Philip always was an obnoxious beast. And afterwards Charlie Burchester sheered off and went abroad. He came back after he succeeded, but Maud--she's awfully proud, you know,--she wouldn't look at him, vows she never will again--though I'm not so sure she won't. He's sure to come back some day. He's such a rattling good sort, and he's jolly fond of her."
"And the rest," said Jake drily.
"No, really, Jake, he isn't a rotter. He's an awfully nice chap. You'd say so if you really knew him."
"I do know him," said Jake.
"And you don't like him?" Bunny's eyes opened wide in astonishment.
"Yes, I like him." Jake's tone was enigmatical. "But I shouldn't call him a marrying man. Anyway, he won't marry your sister, so you can make up your mind to that! Any other gentlemen in the running?"
"You couldn't prevent their being married if--if Maud changed her mind," said Bunny.
Jake smiled. "Anyone else?" he persisted.
"No, no one. She never sees anybody now."
"Except me," said Jake. "And I'm not genteel enough, hey?"
"You're a brick!" said Bunny with enthusiasm. "But, you know, women don't see that sort of thing. They only care about whether a man opens the door for 'em or takes off his glove to shake hands."
Jake broke into a laugh. "Say, sonny, what a thundering lot you know about women!" he said. "Anyway, I conclude I am right in surmising that you personally could swallow me as a brother-in-law?"
Bunny's eyes began to shine. "You're the best fellow I know," he said. "If--if it weren't for Lord Saltash, I wouldn't say a word!"
"Well," said Jake very deliberately, "I refuse to be warned off on his account. That's understood, is it?"
Bunny hesitated. The red-brown eyes were looking full and unwaveringly into his. "I'm not thinking of myself, Jake," he said, with sudden pleading.
Jake's hand closed squarely upon his. "All right, old chap, I know; and I like you for it. But I'm taking odds. It's ninety-nine to one. If I win on the hundredth chance, you'll take it like a sport?"
Bunny's hand returned his grip with all the strength at his command. He was silent for a moment or two; then, impulsively: "I say, Jake," he said, "--you--you're such a sport yourself! I think I'll back you after all."
"Right O!" said Jake. "You won't be sorry."
He dismissed the subject then with obvious intention, and Bunny seemed relieved to let it go. He turned the conversation to Sam Vickers, asking endless questions regarding the American doctor and his miracles.
"I wish he'd come and have a look at me, Jake," he said wistfully at length.
"Thought you didn't like doctors," said Jake.
"Oh, a man like that is different. I'd put up with a man like that," said Bunny, with a sigh.
"You might have to put up with more than you bargained for," said Jake.
Bunny moved his head wearily on the pillow. "I don't think anything could be worse than this," he said.
"I'm glad to hear you say so," said Jake, with sudden force; and then, pulling himself up as suddenly, "No, we won't get talking on that subject. Capper's in America, and you've got to sleep to-night. But you keep a stiff upper lip, old chap! I'm in with you from start to finish. Maybe, some day, we'll work a change."
"You're no end of a trump!" said Bunny with tears in his eyes.