CHAPTER XXVIITHE TOKEN"Why wouldn't you see me last night?" said Saltash.He sat on the corner of the table, swinging a careless leg the while under quizzical brows he watched Maud arrange a great bunch of violets in a bowl. The violets were straight from the Burchester frames, and he had ridden over to present them.Maud was plainly in a reticent mood. She had accepted the gift indeed, but with somewhat distant courtesy."It was late," she said. "And I was attending to Bunny.""Bunny!" He echoed the name with half-mocking surprise. "Does he still engross the whole of your energies? I thought you would have been more occupied with Jake."She stiffened ever so slightly at his words. "I only saw him for a few moments," she said."What! Didn't he come to you to tie up his broken head?" said Saltash. "I nearly killed him, you know. But it was his own fault.""I am aware of that," Maud said coldly."What!" ejaculated Saltash again. "Did he have the impertinence to tell you so?"She raised her eyes momentarily; they shone almost black. "He told me--nothing," she said, her voice deep with a concentrated bitterness that made him stare. "He was not in a condition to do so."Saltash continued to stare. "He was talkative enough when he left me," he remarked.Her eyes gazed full into his. "Why should you try to deceive me?" she said. "Really, you needn't take the trouble."Comprehension dawned on his face. He laughed a little in an amused fashion as if to himself. "What! Wasn't the rascal sober when he got back?""You know he was not," she said."I know he tumbled out of the car and cracked his head," said Saltash. "I daresay he'd been celebrating the Mascot's victory. They all do, you know. But, my dear girl, what of it? Don't look so tragic! You'll get used to it.""Don't!" Maud said suddenly in a voice that shook. "You make me--sick."She bent her face swiftly to the violets, and there was a silence.Saltash continued to swing his leg, his lips pursed to am inaudible whistle. Suddenly he spoke. "Please remember that this is quite unofficial! I don't want a row with Jake!""You needn't be afraid," she said, putting the bowl of violets steadily from her. "No more will be said on the subject by either of us.""I'm not afraid." Saltash was looking at her hard, with a certain curiosity. "But with my best friend tied to him for life, it wouldn't--naturally--be to my interest to quarrel with him."She flashed him a sudden glance. "I think you had better not call me that, Charlie," she said.He laughed carelessly. "I'll call you my dearest enemy, if you like. It would be almost as near the mark."She was silent.He bent suddenly towards her, the laugh gone from his face. "Maud," he said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice, "you're not wanting to throw me over?"She shook her head very slightly. "I can't be on really intimate terms with you any more," she said. "You must see it's impossible.""No, I don't," he said. "Why is it impossible?"She did not answer."Come," he said. "That's unreasonable. What have I done to forfeit your friendship?"She leaned slowly back in her chair, and met his eyes. "I am quite willing to be friends," she said. "But--now that I am married--you mustn't try to flirt with me. I detest married women's flirtations."He made a wry grimace. "My precious prude, you don't even know the meaning of the word. Did you ever flirt with anyone in all your pure, sweet life? The bare idea is ludicrous."Maud's eyes held his with severity. "No, I never flirted with you, Charlie," she said. "But I gave you privileges which I can never give again, which you must never again expect of me. Is that quite clear?"He stooped towards her, his hands upon her shoulders; his dark face deeply glowing. "O Maud, the sincere!" he said, in a voice that vibrated with an odd intensity, half-fierce, half-feigned. "Dare you look me in the face and tell me that in marrying you have not done violence to your soul?"She looked him in the face with absolute steadiness. "I have nothing whatever to tell you," she said.He released as suddenly as he had taken her. "There is no need," he said. "I can read you like a book. I know that if I had been at hand when your mother brought you down here--as heaven knows I would have been if I had known--if I had guessed--you would have been ready enough to marry even me." He stopped, and over his ugly, comic face there came a strangely tragic look. "You could have dictated your own terms too," he said. "I'm not hard to please.""Charlie, hush!" Sharply she broke in upon him. "That is a forbidden subject. I told you definitely long ago that I could never marry you. You know as well as I do that it wouldn't have answered. You would have tired very quickly of my prim ways--just as you did tire in the old days when you fancied you cared for me. I couldn't have satisfied you. I am not the kind of woman you crave for.""No?" He laughed whimsically. "Yet, you know, you are unjust to me--always were. I don't know that you can help it, being what you are. But--if it had been my good luck to marry you--I would have been faithful to you. It's in my bones to be faithful to one woman. However, since she is denied me--" he snapped his fingers with an airy gesture--"je m'amuse autrement. By the way, are you coming up to lunch at the Castle on Sunday?""I?" She raised her brows momentarily. "No, I don't think so," she said."What! You won't? Jake's coming."She lowered her eyes. "No, Charlie," she said firmly. "Bunny has had one of his bad attacks. He won't be well enough for any excitement, and of course I couldn't dream of leaving him.""How you do worship that boy!" said Saltash, with a touch of impatience.Maud was silent."Look here!" he said abruptly. "Why don't you have a proper opinion for Bunny? I'll lend you the wherewithal. I'm quite well off just now."She looked up then with eyes of frank gratitude. "Charlie, that's more than kind of you! But as a matter of fact--Jake has the matter in hand. He knows an American surgeon--a very clever man--a Dr. Capper, who is coming to England soon. And he is going to get him to come and examine Bunny. He--it is really very good of Jake."She spoke haltingly, with flushed cheeks. Saltash was watching her with critical eyes."Oh, so the worthy Jake has the matter in hand, has he?" he said, as she paused. "Wise man! I suppose it is no part of his plans to be hampered with a helpless brother-in-law all his days."She broke in upon him swiftly. "Charlie! That is ungenerous!"He laughed. "My dear girl, it is the obvious. Were I in Jake's position, my first thought would be to relieve you of the all-engrossing care of Bunny. You don't suppose he married you just to make a home for Bunny, do you?"She rose quickly and turned from him. "Why do you try to make things harder for me?" she said in a voice of passionate protest.Saltash remained seated, still swinging an idle leg. "On the contrary, I am anxious to make everything as pleasant as possible," he said.But there was a slightly malicious twist to his smile and his voice was suavely mocking, notwithstanding.Maud moved from him to the window and stood before it very still, with a queenly pose of bearing wholly unconscious, unapproachably aloof.He watched her for a space, an odd, dancing gleam in his strange eyes. At length, as she made no movement, he spoke again, not wholly lightly."See here, Maud! As a proof of my goodness of heart where you are concerned, I am going to make you an offer. This doctor man will probably want to perform an operation on Bunny, and it couldn't possibly take place here. So if it comes to that, will you let it be done at the Castle? There's room for an army of nurses there. The whole place is at your disposal--and Bunny's. And I'll undertake not to get in the way. Come, be friends with me! You know I am as harmless as a dove in your sweet company."He stood up with the words, came impulsively to her, took her hand and, bending with a careless grace, kissed it.She started at his touch, seemed as it were to emerge from an evil dream. She met his laughing eyes, and smiled as though in spite of herself."You are going to be friends with me," said Saltash, with pleased conviction.She left her hand in his. "If you don't suggest--impossible things," she said.He laughed carelessly, satisfied that he had scored a point. "Nonsense! Why should I? Is life so hard?""I think it is," she said sadly."It's only your point of view," he said. "Don't take things too seriously! And above all, stick to your friends!"She looked at him very earnestly. "Will you be a true friend to me, Charlie?"He bent, pressing her hand to his heart. "None so true as I!" he said.She caught back a sigh. "I want a friend--terribly," she said."Behold me!" said Saltash.She drew her hand slowly from him. "But don't make love to me!" she urged pleadingly. "Not even in jest! Let me trust you! Let me lean on you! Don't--don't trifle with me! I can't bear it!"Her voice trembled suddenly. Her eyes filled with tears.Saltash made a quick gesture as if something had hurt him. "I am not always trifling when I jest," he said. "That is the mistake you always made."Maud was silent, struggling for self-command. Yet after a moment she gave him her hand again in mute response to his protest.He took it, held it a moment or two, then let it go."And you will consider my suggestion with regard to Bunny," he said.She replied with an effort, "Yes, I will consider it.""Good!" he said. "Talk it over with Jake! If he doesn't view it reasonably, send him to me! But I think he will, you know. I think he will."He turned as if to go; but paused and after a moment turned back. With an air half-imperious, half-whimsical, he held out upon the palm of his hand the sapphire and diamond ring which till that moment he had worn."As a token of the friendship between us," he said, "will you take this back? No, don't shake your head! It means nothing. But I wish you to have it, and--if ever the need should arise--the need of a friend, remember!--send it to me!"She looked at him with serious eyes. "Charlie, I would rather not.""It isn't sentiment," he said, with a quick lift of the brows. "It is a token--just a token whereby you may test my friendship." Then, as she still stood dubious: "Here, take it! He is coming."He almost thrust it upon her, and wheeled round. She did not want to take it, but the thing was in her hand. Her fingers closed upon it almost mechanically as Jake opened the door, and as they did so she was conscious of a great flood of colour that rose and covered face and neck. She turned her back to the light as one ashamed.Jake came in slowly, as if weary.Saltash greeted him with airy nonchalance. "Hullo, Bolton! I came round to enquire for you. How's the broken crown?"Jake's eyes regarded him, bright, unswervingly direct. "I reckon that was real kind of your lordship," he said. "I had it stitched this morning. I am sorry I omitted to send help along last night."Saltash laughed. "Oh, that's all right. I hardly expected it of you. As a matter of fact the car didn't turn over as you supposed. I soon righted her. You were a bit damaged, eh?"Jake's eyes were still upon him. There was something formidable in their straight survey. "So the car didn't turn over," he said, after a moment."No. If you'd hung on a bit tighter, you wouldn't have been pitched out. Old Harris brought you safe home, did he? No further mishaps by the way?""None," said Jake. He advanced into the room, and stopped by the table. His riding-whip was in his hand. "I came home too dazed to give an intelligible account of myself," he said, speaking very deliberately, wholly without emotion. "My wife imagined that I was not sober. Will your lordship be good enough to convince her that she was mistaken?""I?" said Saltash."You, my lord." Jake stood at the table, square and determined. "I was in your company. You can testify--if you will--that up to the time of the accident I was in a perfectly normal condition. Will you tell her so?"Saltash was facing him across the table. There was a queer look on his swarthy face, a grimace half-comic, half-dismayed.As Jake ended his curt appeal he shrugged and spoke. "You are putting me in a very embarrassing position.""I am sorry," said Jake steadily. "But you are the only witness that I can call.""And why should she accept my testimony?" said Saltash. "Evidence given, so to speak, at the sword's point, my good Bolton, is seldom worth having. Moreover, if she had seen my crazy driving last night she might have been disposed to doubt whether my own condition were above suspicion.""I see," said Jake slowly. He still looked hard into Saltash's face, and there was that in the look that quelled derision. "In that case, there is nothing more to be said."Saltash made him a slight bow that was not without a touch of hauteur. "I quite agree with you. It is an unprofitable subject. With Mrs. Bolton's permission I will take my leave."He turned to her, took and pressed her hand, sent a sudden droll smile into her grave face, and walked to the door.Jake held it open for him, but very abruptly Saltash clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come along, man! I'm going round the Stables. I'm sorry you've got a sore head, but I'm off to town this afternoon, so it's now or never. By the way, we shall have to postpone the luncheon-party til a more convenient season. I've no doubt it's all the same to you."He had his way. Jake went with him, and Maud drew a breath of deep relief. She felt that another private interview with her husband just then would have been unendurable.She sat down and leaned upon the table, feeling weak and unnerved. Not till several minutes had passed did she awake to the fact that she was holding Saltash's ring--that old dear gift of his--tightly clasped within her quivering hands.CHAPTER XXVIIITHE VISITOR"I do hope as I don't intrude," said Mrs. Wright, passing her handkerchief over her shining forehead. "I didn't mean to take the liberty of calling, Mrs. Bolton, but your husband met my Tom the other day, and something he let fall made me think p'raps you'd be finding it a bit lonely; so I thought I'd come up on the chance.""It was very kind of you," Maud said.She sat with her visitor in the little dark front room in which Jake kept his business books, his whips, and all the paraphernalia of his calling. It was a bare, office-like apartment, and reeked horribly of Jake's tobacco; but Bunny was lying in the parlour and he had strenuously set his face against admitting the worthy Mrs. Wright there.It was extremely cold, and Maud felt pinched and inhospitable. The grate was full of shavings, the whole place was cheerless and forlorn. It was a room that she scarcely ever entered, regarding it in fact more as Jake's office than an alternative sitting-room.Mrs. Wright, however, stout, red, comfortable, did not feel the cold. She sat with her umbrella propped against her chair and regarded her stiff young hostess with much geniality on her homely face."You do look like a princess in a cottage, my dear, if you'll allow me to say so," she said. "And how are you getting on? I hope Jake's a good husband to you. I feel sure he would be. He's such an honest fellow. I often says to Tom, 'Give me a plain honest man like Jake Bolton,' I says; 'he's a man in a thousand.' I'm sure you think so yourself, Mrs. Bolton."Maud, not knowing quite what to say, replied with reserve that she had no doubt he was. She was wondering if she could possibly offer Mrs. Wright tea in that dreadful little room of Jake's and if she would ever get rid of her if she didn't.Mrs. Wright, serenely unconscious of the troublous question vexing her soul, went comfortably on. "I've often thought that if it had pleased the Almighty to send me a daughter, Jake's just the man I would have chosen for her. I like them eyes of his. They're so straight. But mind you, I think he has a temper of his own. Mayhap you've never met with it yet?"She looked at Maud slyly out of merry little slits of eyes, and chuckled at the flush that rose in the girl's face."He certainly never loses it in my presence," Maud said stiffly.Mrs. Wright's chuckle became a laugh. "Lor', my dear, you needn't be shy with me. He worships you; now, don't he? I saw that the first time I laid eyes on you. That was when you was waiting for him to come and take you in to supper, and my Tom came first. I said to myself then, 'Ah, Jake, young man, it's plain to see where your fancy lies.' And I laughed to myself," said Mrs. Wright, still chuckling. "For I couldn't help thinking he was ambitious to lift his eyes to a real lady. Not that in my opinion a man who is a man isn't good enough for any woman, and I'm sure you think the same. And then, you know, he's that fond of children, is Jake. The wonder to my mind is not that he's married now, but that he stayed single so long.""He is very fond of my young brother," Maud observed."Ah! Is he now? The poor little lad is a cripple, isn't he? Many's the time I've watched you go by my shop-window. It's the wool shop at the corner of East Street with one window that looks over the sea. I used to wish you'd drop in to buy something, my dear; but you never did. P'raps now you'll manage to find your way round there some day.""Thank you," Maud said. "But I so seldom go anywhere. My brother takes up all my time."Mrs. Wright's rubicund face took a look of disappointment, but she still smiled; it was a face that lent itself to smiles. "It isn't to be expected that he'd want to come," she said. "But I'd be very pleased to see you both any time. What a good sister you are to him, my dear! I hope as he appreciates you."Maud's heart smote her suddenly. She realized that she had been ungracious. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Wright," she said, with more of cordiality than she had yet shown. "I will try to run in some day."Mrs. Wright looked enchanted on the instant. "My dear, I'd be delighted! Come any time of day, just when it suits you! Tom and me, we live alone now. He's such a good son. He keeps a hair-dresser's saloon, you know, at the side of the shop. That's how we come to know Mr. Bolton. He comes as regular as possible every third week to have his hair cut. Such a head of hair it is--hair such as a woman would give her eyes for. It's to be hoped he'll get a little daughter some day, as'll take after him. Your eyes and his hair--wouldn't she be a picture!"Maud's geniality passed like a light extinguished. She became statuesque. "How soon the light goes!" she said, with a glance towards the darkening window."Yes; don't it?" said Mrs. Wright.There fell a silence most unusual with Mrs. Wright. With an effort Maud dispelled it."We are very much interested in the horses. You heard of the Mascot's victory at Graydown?"Mrs. Wright came out of her silence, shook herself together, as it were, and smiled again. "Now, isn't that nice for Jake? He's that wrapped up in the animals, and to have you interested in 'em too! Now I should be jealous of 'em if it was me!"It was at this point that Jake himself threw open the door and entered, stopping short within the room in surprise to find it occupied.Mrs. Wright laughed aloud. "There, now! You didn't expect to find me in possession, did you? How de do, Jake? What's happened to your head?"Jake advanced with extended hand. "Hullo, it's Mother Wright!" he said, and to Maud's amazement stooped and kissed her. "If this isn't a real pleasure! But what are you doing in here? My head made a hole in the road coming home from the races the other night, and it is still too sore a subject for discussion.""Now--now, Jake!" protested Mrs. Wright."Fact!" he assured her, with the candid smile that Maud had seen but little of late. "But now what are you doing in here, I want to know? This place is like a vault. Come along into the parlour and have some tea!"He had not so much as glanced at Maud; she spoke suddenly, with nervous haste. "Bunny is in the parlour, Jake. He may be dozing.""We'll soon wake him up," said Jake,He drew Mrs. Wright's tightly-gloved hand through his arm and turned to the door. But she held him back, laughing."Jake! Jake! You've forgotten something.""What's that?" said Jake.She told him amid many fat chuckles. "Why, you've kissed me, and you haven't kissed your wife. Come, now, that's not right, and you but just married. I know you're wanting to, so don't be shy! I've been a bride myself, and I know all about it."She would have withdrawn her hand from Jake's arm, but he would not suffer it."No, no!" he said, with a careless laugh. "We don't do our kissing in public. Guess it isn't a genial enough atmosphere either. Come along, Mother! You'll perish in here."He led her from the room, still without glancing in Maud's direction, and drew her along the narrow passage to the door of the parlour.Maud followed with a stateliness that veiled a burning embarrassment.She listened for Bunny's voice at the opening of the door, and instantly heard it raised in cracked remonstrance."Here, I say! Don't bring anyone in here! Oh, it's you, Jake! I thought it was Maud. I thought----"His voice suddenly ended in what she felt to be the silence of disgust, and Jake's accents very measured, very determined, took up the tale."This is my young brother-in-law, Mrs. Wright, Sir Bernard Brian, commonly called Bunny. Well, Bunny, my lad, I've brought you a visitor to tea."Bunny growled an inarticulate response, and Mrs. Wright covered all deficiencies with her cheery chuckle."So nice to see you so cosy and comfortable, my dear. I hope as I'm not intruding too much. Do you know, Jake, I don't think I'd better stop to tea? It's getting dark, and Tom'll be wondering.""Let him wonder!" said Jake. "I'll see you home all in good time. You know you always have tea when you come to see me. It's seldom enough you come too. Maud," for the first time he addressed her directly, and in his voice was a new note of authority such as she had never heard before, "order the tea, will you? We will have it at once."It was a distinct command. Maud's delicate neck stiffened instinctively. She crossed the room in silence, and rang the bell.The summons was answered with unusual promptitude by Mrs. Lovelace, who entered with the supper-cloth on her arm and was greeted by the visitor with much joviality."How is it I never see you round our way, Sarah? Have you quite forgotten your old friends?""Not at all, Mrs. Wright, ma'am," said Mrs. Lovelace, dexterously flinging her cloth over the table. "But I've been a bit busy, you see, what with one thing and another, and me time's been occupied.""What on earth are you spreading that cloth for?" here broke in Bunny, in irritable astonishment. "We never have that for tea."Mrs. Lovelace looked at him with dignity and hitched one shoulder. "We always has a good spread when Mrs. Wright comes to see the master," she said, in a tone that conveyed a distinct reproof for ill-timed interference.Bunny subsided into sullen silence, and Mrs. Wright laughed again. "I remember as it always used to be a heavy tea," she said. "But I don't suppose a young gentleman like you would know what such things mean. Now, I do hope you won't put yourself out on my account, Mrs. Bolton. It's true I'm not accustomed to drawing-room meals, never had tea on my lap in my life. But there, you might say as I haven't got much lap left to have it on. Is that sardines you've got there, Sarah? Ah, you always remember my pet weakness. Well, Jake, my dear, I haven't congratulated you yet on your marriage. I hope it's going to be a very prosperous one. I don't doubt as you've got a wife to be proud of, and I hope you'll pull together well and make each other happy and comfortable; and may you have your heart's desire, Jake, which--if I know you properly--isn't very far to seek!""That's real kind of you, Mother," said Jake sombrely.He had seated himself near Bunny whose brows were drawn in an ominous scowl.In spite of the fire that roared up the chimney, the atmosphere was very far from being a genial one. Jake's eyes, compellingly bright, were fixed upon Maud, who though burningly conscious of his regard refused persistently to raise her own. She was bitterly resentful of Jake's attitude. It placed her in an intolerable position from which she felt herself powerless to break free. She had no desire to treat this impossible old woman churlishly, but somehow Jake forced her to a more acute realization of the great gulf that stretched between them. She could not even pretend to be cordial in his presence. She sat tongue-tied. Mrs. Wright, however, chatted on with the utmost complacence. She was plainly quite at her ease with Jake and she kept the conversation going without an effort, despite Maud's obvious embarrassment and Bunny's evident impatience.She made a hearty meal, urged on by Jake who presently bestowed the whole of his attention upon her, seeming to dismiss his wife and brother-in-law from his mind."I really must be going," she declared at length, having detailed all the local gossip she could think of for his delectation. "You shouldn't encourage me so, Jake. I'm sure you'll all be tired out.""I reckon you're just the most welcome visitor that ever darkens my doors," said Jake, rising with her. "Now, you're not to hurry. I'm going to tell them to put the horse in.""No, no, Jake, my dear, don't you! I'd sooner walk. I would indeed. It does me good, and it's too cold to-night for driving. No, and I'm not going to let you see me home either. I'd know the way blindfold, and I'm not that nervous. Oh, there now! What's this?"Mrs. Lovelace had just thrown open the door with some pomp. She entered, bearing an enormous bunch of violets which she proceeded to present to Maud with the ceremonious announcement: "Lord Saltash's compliments, ma'am, and will you do him the honour to accept these?""Oh my! How lovely!" cried Mrs. Wright.Maud said nothing. She took the violets and held them up to her face.Jake glanced at her momentarily, and thence to Mrs. Lovelace who had come forward to help Mrs. Wright into her cloak."Is Lord Saltash at the door?" he asked.Mrs. Lovelace gave a start, as if something in the query surprised her. "No sir, the flowers was brought by a groom," she said.Jake said no more, but something in his silence sent the ever-ready colour flooding Maud's face and neck. She bent a little lower over the violets, saying no word.Mrs. Wright came clumsily into the breach. "But aren't they lovely, to be sure? Never did I see such beauties. And the scent of 'em, why, the room is full of it! Isn't that kind of Lord Saltash now?""They have a great quantity at the Castle," Maud said in muffled tones.She held the flowers for Mrs. Wright to smell, and at the same moment Jake reached forth and took them from her outstretched hand."You take 'em if you like 'em, Mother. We get more of 'em than we want," he said, in leisurely tones, and thrust the bouquet forthwith into her astonished grasp."Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs. Wright, between dismay and delight. "But--but they was a present to Mrs. Bolton. I couldn't really! No, that I couldn't!""Take 'em!" Jake said. He was smiling a smile of deadly determination and his leisurely utterance held something of a fateful quality that induced Mrs. Wright to hush her remonstrances and turn appealingly to Maud.The latter was standing erect and still with eyes of burning blue fixed steadily upon emptiness. She made no response whatever to her visitor's unspoken appeal, it seemed that she did not even see it."It's all right, Mother," smiled Jake. "You take 'em home and enjoy 'em. As a matter of fact, Maud and I are getting a bit fed up with 'em ourselves. Yes, I'm going to see you home. I'd rather.""And I'd rather not, Jake," Mrs. Wright asserted with sudden decision. An odd expression of sternness had come into her jolly countenance. It sat very strangely there. She came close to Maud, and as the girl extended a stiff hand in farewell she took it and pressed the flowers into it. "They're not Jake's to give," she said, "and I'm not going to deprive you of 'em. Thank you kindly for a very good tea, Mrs. Bolton, my dear. And now I'll wish you good-bye. If there's ever anything as I can do for you, you must let me know."The words, the tone, were full of kindly comprehension, a sympathy too subtle for outward expression. Maud looked into eyes of shining friendliness, and as if a sudden shaft of sunlight had caught her heart, her bitterness melted into something that was near akin to gratitude.She held up the violets with a smile. "Wait a moment!" she said. "I would like you to have some of them."She untied them with the words, divided the great bunch, and gave back a generous half into Mrs. Wright's plump hand."Now, that's very good of you, dear," said Mrs. Wright. "I shall just treasure them violets. They'll make me think of you whenever I look at 'em. They're just the colour of your eyes. Good-bye, and thank you most kindly."It was then that Maud did a thing that amazed herself, impelled thereto by that subtle sympathy which she had so little expected to meet. She bent her stately neck and kissed the red, smiling face uplifted in such honest admiration to hers. "Good-bye, Mrs. Wright," she said. "And thank you for coming. I shall try to come and see you one day--when I can make time.""Any time, dear, any time!" beamed Mrs. Wright. "Drop in just whenever you feel inclined! I'm most always there." She gave her a hearty hug with the words, and then, as if afraid that this demonstration had been too ardent, she turned and trotted to the door."Good-bye, Jake! Good-bye! There, now, I've forgotten Sir Brian. You must excuse me for being so stupid.""Oh, don't trouble!" said Bunny, with ironical courtesy. "Pray don't come back on my account!"She looked back at him from the threshold, a very motherly compassion on her jolly face."Poor little lad!" she murmured pityingly. "How sadly he looks, to be sure! Good-bye, then, Sir Brian! I won't come back. Now, Jake, I'll let you see me to the door-step--no further. The moon's up, and Tom'll be sure to come and meet me." She started down the passage with Jake behind her, her voice dwindling as she went. "I'm so glad as I've seen your princess, Jake. I think she's lovely. Mind you're very good to her! She's high born, you know, Jake, my boy; better-class than you and me. I never see anyone so proud and so dainty. You be kind to her, my lad, and see you treat her like the lady she is!"Jake's reply, if he made one, was inaudible."Common old hag!" growled Bunny from his sofa.Maud said nothing at all. Her face was hidden in her violets, and she was as one who heard not.CHAPTER XXIXHER OTHER SELFIt was on an afternoon in mid-January that Maud found herself for the first time in the precincts of Burchester Castle. She had heard nothing of Lord Saltash since his departure for town, though gifts of flowers arrived at regular intervals from his hot-houses; and it seemed that his absence was to be indefinitely prolonged. She almost hoped that it would be so, for though he was practically her only friend his presence was not an unalloyed pleasure. She felt more at ease when he was away.On this particular afternoon she had left Bunny wrapped up in his long chair and lying in the summer-house that overlooked the field where Jake was occupied in breaking in a wild young colt. The day was fine and unusually warm. Bunny was in a contented mood and, since Jake was close at hand, she did not see why she should not leave him for a space. He had been needing her less and less of late, and though his behaviour towards herself had undoubtedly undergone a considerable improvement, it was becoming very evident to her that he vastly preferred Jake's masculine companionship to her own. He was in fact so devoted to Jake that he would endure correction from him without a murmur, a state of affairs that Maud vaguely resented, without knowing why. They were such close allies that she often felt herself to be superfluous. Neither by day nor by night was her presence any longer essential.She knew that she ought not to regret this, for it meant that Bunny's health was very materially improving; but yet at the heart of her there often came a pang. She missed his dependence upon her with a poignancy that was very hard to bear.And so for the first time that afternoon she decided to avail herself of Lord Saltash's permission to use the piano at the Castle. She had an intense love of music and a natural gift for it which she had never been able to develop very freely.Charlie was musical too. Some of her happiest hours had been spent at the piano with him in the old days. He was an accomplished musician himself, and he had given her many a lesson and valuable hint. She sometimes thought that it was over the piano that her heart had first gone out to his.She did not want to recall those happy times they had had together. They lay far behind her with her buried youth. But the longing to make music was strong upon her. It had risen out of her loneliness like a fiery thirst in the desert, and she yearned to gratify it.And after all why should she not? Charlie was away. There was no one to know or care how she spent her time. It was obviously and unquestionably her own.Jake had wholly ceased to take any interest in her doings. He treated her as the most casual acquaintance. When he greeted her, he never so much as touched her hand. He was everything to Bunny, he was nothing to her; and every day it seemed to her that he drew a little further away from her. She had tried to make overtures more than once, but he never seemed to understand. He would look at her in his straight, impenetrable way, and pass deliberately on to some other matter, whether with intention or not she could never wholly decide. He had never tried to be kind to her since the day that she had refused to hear his proffered explanation.A great bitterness was growing up within her. She felt as if he had deprived her of all she cared for, and given her nothing in return. It was in part this bitterness of spirit that drove her to Burchester Castle that day, and, added thereto, an intense and feverish desire to escape if only for an hour from the atmosphere of her daily existence. She felt as if it were crushing out her individuality, and she longed desperately to be herself, her best and happiest self, if only for an hour.So, with no word to any but Bunny of her intention, she passed up the long fir avenue to the Castle with the winter sun sinking red behind her.The great stone building frowned upon her as she drew near. She approached it with a certain awe. The dark windows seemed to gaze at her. The massive entrance yawned to receive her.She stepped into the echoing Gothic porch, and found herself confronted by a massive oak door. The electric bell at the side of this, however, was reassuring, and she rang it without hesitation.While she waited for the door to open she amused herself by examining the gargoyles that surmounted the pillars of the porch,--jeering, demon faces that made her shiver. There was about the place an ecclesiastical dignity at which those faces seemed to mock. The thought of Saltash went through her. Saltash in a derisive mood was strikingly like one of these.The door opened with noiseless state, and an ancient man-servant stood before her. He looked at her with grave enquiry, and with a touch of nervousness she explained her presence."I am Mrs. Bolton. Lord Saltash is away, I know; but he has given me permission to use his piano. I thought I should like to do so this afternoon."The old man stood back and bowed before her. "Come in, madam!" he said.She entered with a curious sensation of unreality, and found herself in an immense stone hall, carpeted with rich Persian rugs, and splendidly warmed by a great fire that roared in an open fireplace. The sense of ecclesiastical austerity completely vanished as soon as the door closed behind her. The whole atmosphere became luxurious, sensuous, Eastern. There were some wonderful pieces of statuary, some in marble and some in bronze, placed here and there, that were of anything but monastical design. One in particular in a niche in the stone wall caught Maud's eyes as she followed her guide--a nude, female figure with wings, one of which was spread like an eagle's pinion as though to soar, while the other trailed back, broken, drooping, powerless. It was a wonderful marble, and she paused before it almost involuntarily. The arms of the figure were outstretched and straining upwards, the head flung back, and in the face such anguish, such longing, such passionate protest as thrilled her through and through.The old butler paused also. "That," he said in his decorous monotone, "is Spentoli'sFallen Woman. His lordship prefers to call itThe Captured Angel. A very valuable piece of sculptury, I believe, madam. Quite one of the features of the place. His lordship sets great store by it, and it is universally admired by all visitors.""It is wonderful," Maud said. But yet she turned her eyes away almost immediately. There was something about that mute, agonized figure of womanhood that she felt she could not bear to look upon except in solitude.The butler stumped on down the great hall, and she followed, to a grand oak staircase that divided into two half-way up and led to a panelled gallery that ran along three sides of the hall. Solemnly they mounted. A high oak door confronted them at the top which the old man threw open with much ceremony."The grand piano, madam, is over by the west window," he said, and with another deep bow withdrew, closing the door without sound behind her.Maud went forward into the room. The first impression she received was of great loftiness. It was a huge apartment, oak-panelled, and with a floor of polished oak. The whole of one side of the room was lighted by south windows that looked out over terraced gardens to the pine-woods of the park. At the end was a turret in the western angle of the wall, and here stood the piano, full in the glow of the sinking sun. There were two fireplaces in the room, and in the one nearer to the piano a red still fire was burning. A low couch stood before it, and a great tiger-skin--the only rug in the whole vast place--was spread on the hearth. There were other couches and strangely-shaped divans in the room, but no chairs, and only one small table. The whole effect was spacious and Eastern, curiously attractive to the senses and yet curiously elusive.Maud went over the uncovered floor, treading lightly, with a feeling of having entered an enchanted land,--a feeling not wholly pleasant of being caught in a fairy web of subtleties from which she might not find it easy to escape.The whole atmosphere breathed of Saltash. She was sure that he had designed every elusive detail.The piano was thrown invitingly open. A French song was on the rack. It had the appearance of having been placed there but a moment before. A sudden doubt assailed her, a sensation as of having walked unwittingly into a trap. Some force had drawn her hither, some magnetism had surely been at work.The impulse came to her then to turn and go, yet she resisted it. Later, it seemed to her that she had lacked the motive power to do aught but move straight to the piano and drop onto the music-stool before the keys. Her hands went out to them, and suddenly she was playing, at first very softly, then with gathering tone as she felt the instrument respond to her touch, till at length all sense of strangeness left her, and she began to sing the little French ditty that once had been one of her favourites! She had never heard her own voice to greater advantage than in that lofty music-room. It was a mezzo, sweet rather than powerful, with a ringing, bell-like quality that Charlie had been wont to compare to the tentative notes of a bullfinch. He had always declared that she was afraid of the sound of it, but this was certainly not the case to-day. The glad notes left her lips, true and free and birdlike. The heart within her had suddenly grown light.The song came to an end. Her fingers began to wander idly over the keys. She played a dreamy air with an old-world waltz refrain, too lost in her trance of delight to realize what she played, and again half-unconsciously she was singing, as she had sung long ago before the gates of youth."There has fall'n a splendid tear,From the passion flower at the gate,She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate.The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near';And the white rose weeps, 'She is late';The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear';And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'"Softly, sweetly, the notes stole through the room, wandered awhile, and ceased. There fell a pause, and the girl's eyes rested dreaming on the long dark line of pine-trees red-flushed in the glow of sunset.Then, still following her dream, she sang on."She is coming, my own, my sweet,Were it ever so airy a treadMy heart would hear her and beatWere it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead;Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red."And then she was singing the refrain, and while she sang it she awoke."Come into the garden, Maud,For the black bat night has flown;Come into the garden, Maud,I am here at the gate alone,I am here at the gate alone."She stopped suddenly with the conviction that a man's voice had joined hers in the singing of that refrain. Yet, if this had been so, the accompanying voice ceased as abruptly as her own. She found herself sitting in absolute silence, with every pulse racing, every nerve strained to listen.No sound came to her. The whole great chamber was as still as death. The fire burned red and silent. There was not so much as the ticking of a clock to be heard. And yet it seemed to her that eyes watched her from some vantage point unseen. She had a firm conviction that she was not alone.She controlled the curious excitement that possessed her, and slowly set her fingers once more on the keys. She played the old refrain again, singing it very softly, listening intently while she sang. This time she was sure--quite sure--that a man's voice hummed the air. She went on to the end, and suffered her hands to fall."Charlie!" she said, without turning.There came a slight sound behind her, the click as of a spring catch. She looked round, and saw him standing against the high panelling of the wall."What a childish game to play!" she said, with lips that slightly trembled."We are all children," observed Saltash. "We may think ourselves mighty clever, but the fact remains. Greeting, my queen rose! I am enchanted to see you."He came forward, his black brows working comically, his queer ugly face smiling a welcome.In spite of herself, Maud smiled in answer. "But why did you pretend you weren't at home?" she said, in a voice of protest.He laughed as he took her hand. "But I wasn't," he said. "I motored down on purpose to receive you. Are you so disappointed?"She shook her head, but she still looked at him somewhat dubiously. "You know, Charlie," she said, "I like people to behave quite straightforwardly, and to tell the truth.""Heavens above!" laughed Saltash. "Why so grievously moral? Well, look here, let me be quite, quite honest, and admit that it was wholly by chance that I came down here to-day. Chance or the beneficent will of the gods! Call it what you will! And, my dear girl, don't be prudish now you are married! Remember, that though it is a state of bondage there are certain liberties attached that are well worth having. Now, you are going to play and sing to me while I smoke and admire."He turned from her and threw himself upon a low settee in the window embrasure. The scent of his cigarette came to her, aromatic, Eastern, fragrant of many subtleties. She breathed it as one who inhales the magic of the gods."Now, play!" he commanded, his strange, restless eyes upon her. "Play as the spirit moves you! Never mind me! I am of no account."She had done it often before in the old days. It was not difficult to do it now, with the spell of his personality upon her. Her own spirit responded instinctively to the call of his. The sympathy between them became communion. She began to play, and, playing, lost herself in the music as one inspired.Saltash lay without moving, as if half-asleep. He also seemed as one under a charm.And Maud played on and on, seeing visions, steeping her soul in romance, forgetful wholly of the chain by which she was bound; forgetful also of her companion, or perhaps so merged in his individuality as to be unaware of any dividing line. It was the old, sweet dreamland that had always held them both.Time passed, and the red sun with it. The early dark began to fall, the shining visions to wane. She came out of her trance at last with a deep sigh, and suffered her hands to fall.Instantly Saltash sat up. "Bravo,ma belle reine! Your touch is like velvet to the senses. You have scarcely sung to me at all. But no matter! You have closed the gates now, and we can't go back. But wasn't it good? Come, be honest and say so."She lifted her eyes to his with something of her dream still lingering there. "It was--very good," she said."And you'll come again?" he insinuated.The dream began to fade. With her right hand she picked out a nervous little air on the piano, saying no word.He leaned towards her. "Maud," he insisted, "surely you'll come again!""I don't know," she said slowly."Surely!" he said again.Her eyes grew troubled. "Charlie," she said, her fingers still softly pressing the keys, "I can't come here when you are here. I like to come,--oh yes, I like to come. But I mustn't.""Why not?" said Saltash. "Afraid of the cow-puncher?"She shrank, and struck a sudden discordant chord. "I am not afraid of anyone, but I must think of appearances. I owe it to myself. I should like to come sometimes and play. But--with you here--I can't.""All right," he said abruptly. "I'll go."Her eyes flashed up to his. She took her hand from the piano and gave it to him. "You are going to be a true friend to me, Charlie," she said.He smiled rather wryly. "My friendship is to take a somewhat negative form, it seems to me, but perhaps it will stand the strain. Have you heard anything yet about the American doctor?"She shook her head. "No, nothing.""And you have not laid my proposal before Jake, I gather?" he pursued, boldly keeping her hand in his."Not yet," she said."Have you given the matter your own august consideration?" he asked.Her hand began to fidget for freedom. "I have thought about it, Charlie. I have not quite made up my mind. But you mustn't be hurt if I say No.""I shan't be hurt," he said, slowly relaxing his hold so that her hand slipped free. "But I shall think that your love of propriety somewhat outweighs your love for Bunny."She flushed, and turned aside to take up her gloves in silence.He stood and watched her. "That is so like you," he said, after a moment.She glanced at him. "What do you mean?"He laughed lightly, but without mockery. "Your stately silences! Do you know I remember you best by your silences? It is there that you differ from all the rest of your charming sex. Other women, when they are misjudged, clamour for redress. You endure in silence, too proud to complain. I wonder if Jake has realized your silences yet."Maud stiffened a little. "I must be going," she said. "I promised Bunny I would be back to tea.""I'll walk back with you," Saltash said.She shook her head. "No, I would rather go alone.""Why don't you tackle the situation boldly and ask me to tea?" he said.She was walking down the long room, and he sauntered beside her, smoking a cigarette, careless and debonair."I think it wiser not, Charlie," she said.He laughed. "As you will. But remember, life is short. We may as well enjoy ourselves, while it lasts. Did old Billings show you up here? He is the one respectable feature of this establishment.""Yes, he certainly is respectable," she agreed, with a smile. "But where were you when I came in? You didn't come through this door."He laughed again in a fashion half-mocking, half-secretive. "That is my affair,ma belle reine. Some day I may show you--several things; but that day has not dawned yet."He threw open the door, and they found the great hall below them ablaze with electric light. "I suppose I may accompany you downstairs," he observed."What a wonderful place it is!" Maud said.Her eyes went almost involuntarily to the statue that had arrested her attention on entering. It shone from its niche with a white splendour that seemed to give forth light."MyCaptured Angelhas the place of honour by night and by day," said Saltash. "I have been wanting you to see her, or perhaps it would be more correct to say, I have been wanting to see you together. Have you ever met your other self before?""My other self?" She looked at him interrogatively.He made her a quizzical bow. "Have you never seen that face before?"She descended the stairs, and approached the statue. They stood together before it. She had desired to see it in solitude before, but with Saltash by her side that desire had left her. They viewed it from the same standpoint, in that subtle communion of spirit that had always characterized their intercourse.And she saw--as he saw--her own features carved in the marble, piteous, tragic, alive."PoorCaptured Angel!" murmured Saltash softly. "So fair of face, so sad of soul!"She did not respond. She felt as if in that recognition something had pierced her heart. It was like a revelation of things to come. So for awhile she stood, gazing upon that tragic figure of broken womanhood; and finally in silence turned away.He went with her to the door, but he did not offer a second time to accompany her farther. On the threshold she gave him her hand in farewell."You will come again?" he said.She met his strange, unstable eyes for a moment and fancied that they pleaded with her."Not to see you, Charlie," she said, and was conscious in a vaguely troubled way that the words cost her an effort.His eyes flashed her a laugh. "No, not to see me," he said lightly. "Of course not. Just for your own enjoyment. You will enjoy that piano, you know. And you can have it all to yourself."She smiled in spite of herself even against her will. "Very well," she said. "I will come again some day, And thank you very much.""Oh, don't do that!" he protested. "It spoils everything."She released her hand, and turned from him, still smiling. "Good-bye!" she said."Farewell, Queen of the roses!" he made light response.She passed through the wide stone porch and out into the dark of the winter evening.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE TOKEN
"Why wouldn't you see me last night?" said Saltash.
He sat on the corner of the table, swinging a careless leg the while under quizzical brows he watched Maud arrange a great bunch of violets in a bowl. The violets were straight from the Burchester frames, and he had ridden over to present them.
Maud was plainly in a reticent mood. She had accepted the gift indeed, but with somewhat distant courtesy.
"It was late," she said. "And I was attending to Bunny."
"Bunny!" He echoed the name with half-mocking surprise. "Does he still engross the whole of your energies? I thought you would have been more occupied with Jake."
She stiffened ever so slightly at his words. "I only saw him for a few moments," she said.
"What! Didn't he come to you to tie up his broken head?" said Saltash. "I nearly killed him, you know. But it was his own fault."
"I am aware of that," Maud said coldly.
"What!" ejaculated Saltash again. "Did he have the impertinence to tell you so?"
She raised her eyes momentarily; they shone almost black. "He told me--nothing," she said, her voice deep with a concentrated bitterness that made him stare. "He was not in a condition to do so."
Saltash continued to stare. "He was talkative enough when he left me," he remarked.
Her eyes gazed full into his. "Why should you try to deceive me?" she said. "Really, you needn't take the trouble."
Comprehension dawned on his face. He laughed a little in an amused fashion as if to himself. "What! Wasn't the rascal sober when he got back?"
"You know he was not," she said.
"I know he tumbled out of the car and cracked his head," said Saltash. "I daresay he'd been celebrating the Mascot's victory. They all do, you know. But, my dear girl, what of it? Don't look so tragic! You'll get used to it."
"Don't!" Maud said suddenly in a voice that shook. "You make me--sick."
She bent her face swiftly to the violets, and there was a silence.
Saltash continued to swing his leg, his lips pursed to am inaudible whistle. Suddenly he spoke. "Please remember that this is quite unofficial! I don't want a row with Jake!"
"You needn't be afraid," she said, putting the bowl of violets steadily from her. "No more will be said on the subject by either of us."
"I'm not afraid." Saltash was looking at her hard, with a certain curiosity. "But with my best friend tied to him for life, it wouldn't--naturally--be to my interest to quarrel with him."
She flashed him a sudden glance. "I think you had better not call me that, Charlie," she said.
He laughed carelessly. "I'll call you my dearest enemy, if you like. It would be almost as near the mark."
She was silent.
He bent suddenly towards her, the laugh gone from his face. "Maud," he said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice, "you're not wanting to throw me over?"
She shook her head very slightly. "I can't be on really intimate terms with you any more," she said. "You must see it's impossible."
"No, I don't," he said. "Why is it impossible?"
She did not answer.
"Come," he said. "That's unreasonable. What have I done to forfeit your friendship?"
She leaned slowly back in her chair, and met his eyes. "I am quite willing to be friends," she said. "But--now that I am married--you mustn't try to flirt with me. I detest married women's flirtations."
He made a wry grimace. "My precious prude, you don't even know the meaning of the word. Did you ever flirt with anyone in all your pure, sweet life? The bare idea is ludicrous."
Maud's eyes held his with severity. "No, I never flirted with you, Charlie," she said. "But I gave you privileges which I can never give again, which you must never again expect of me. Is that quite clear?"
He stooped towards her, his hands upon her shoulders; his dark face deeply glowing. "O Maud, the sincere!" he said, in a voice that vibrated with an odd intensity, half-fierce, half-feigned. "Dare you look me in the face and tell me that in marrying you have not done violence to your soul?"
She looked him in the face with absolute steadiness. "I have nothing whatever to tell you," she said.
He released as suddenly as he had taken her. "There is no need," he said. "I can read you like a book. I know that if I had been at hand when your mother brought you down here--as heaven knows I would have been if I had known--if I had guessed--you would have been ready enough to marry even me." He stopped, and over his ugly, comic face there came a strangely tragic look. "You could have dictated your own terms too," he said. "I'm not hard to please."
"Charlie, hush!" Sharply she broke in upon him. "That is a forbidden subject. I told you definitely long ago that I could never marry you. You know as well as I do that it wouldn't have answered. You would have tired very quickly of my prim ways--just as you did tire in the old days when you fancied you cared for me. I couldn't have satisfied you. I am not the kind of woman you crave for."
"No?" He laughed whimsically. "Yet, you know, you are unjust to me--always were. I don't know that you can help it, being what you are. But--if it had been my good luck to marry you--I would have been faithful to you. It's in my bones to be faithful to one woman. However, since she is denied me--" he snapped his fingers with an airy gesture--"je m'amuse autrement. By the way, are you coming up to lunch at the Castle on Sunday?"
"I?" She raised her brows momentarily. "No, I don't think so," she said.
"What! You won't? Jake's coming."
She lowered her eyes. "No, Charlie," she said firmly. "Bunny has had one of his bad attacks. He won't be well enough for any excitement, and of course I couldn't dream of leaving him."
"How you do worship that boy!" said Saltash, with a touch of impatience.
Maud was silent.
"Look here!" he said abruptly. "Why don't you have a proper opinion for Bunny? I'll lend you the wherewithal. I'm quite well off just now."
She looked up then with eyes of frank gratitude. "Charlie, that's more than kind of you! But as a matter of fact--Jake has the matter in hand. He knows an American surgeon--a very clever man--a Dr. Capper, who is coming to England soon. And he is going to get him to come and examine Bunny. He--it is really very good of Jake."
She spoke haltingly, with flushed cheeks. Saltash was watching her with critical eyes.
"Oh, so the worthy Jake has the matter in hand, has he?" he said, as she paused. "Wise man! I suppose it is no part of his plans to be hampered with a helpless brother-in-law all his days."
She broke in upon him swiftly. "Charlie! That is ungenerous!"
He laughed. "My dear girl, it is the obvious. Were I in Jake's position, my first thought would be to relieve you of the all-engrossing care of Bunny. You don't suppose he married you just to make a home for Bunny, do you?"
She rose quickly and turned from him. "Why do you try to make things harder for me?" she said in a voice of passionate protest.
Saltash remained seated, still swinging an idle leg. "On the contrary, I am anxious to make everything as pleasant as possible," he said.
But there was a slightly malicious twist to his smile and his voice was suavely mocking, notwithstanding.
Maud moved from him to the window and stood before it very still, with a queenly pose of bearing wholly unconscious, unapproachably aloof.
He watched her for a space, an odd, dancing gleam in his strange eyes. At length, as she made no movement, he spoke again, not wholly lightly.
"See here, Maud! As a proof of my goodness of heart where you are concerned, I am going to make you an offer. This doctor man will probably want to perform an operation on Bunny, and it couldn't possibly take place here. So if it comes to that, will you let it be done at the Castle? There's room for an army of nurses there. The whole place is at your disposal--and Bunny's. And I'll undertake not to get in the way. Come, be friends with me! You know I am as harmless as a dove in your sweet company."
He stood up with the words, came impulsively to her, took her hand and, bending with a careless grace, kissed it.
She started at his touch, seemed as it were to emerge from an evil dream. She met his laughing eyes, and smiled as though in spite of herself.
"You are going to be friends with me," said Saltash, with pleased conviction.
She left her hand in his. "If you don't suggest--impossible things," she said.
He laughed carelessly, satisfied that he had scored a point. "Nonsense! Why should I? Is life so hard?"
"I think it is," she said sadly.
"It's only your point of view," he said. "Don't take things too seriously! And above all, stick to your friends!"
She looked at him very earnestly. "Will you be a true friend to me, Charlie?"
He bent, pressing her hand to his heart. "None so true as I!" he said.
She caught back a sigh. "I want a friend--terribly," she said.
"Behold me!" said Saltash.
She drew her hand slowly from him. "But don't make love to me!" she urged pleadingly. "Not even in jest! Let me trust you! Let me lean on you! Don't--don't trifle with me! I can't bear it!"
Her voice trembled suddenly. Her eyes filled with tears.
Saltash made a quick gesture as if something had hurt him. "I am not always trifling when I jest," he said. "That is the mistake you always made."
Maud was silent, struggling for self-command. Yet after a moment she gave him her hand again in mute response to his protest.
He took it, held it a moment or two, then let it go.
"And you will consider my suggestion with regard to Bunny," he said.
She replied with an effort, "Yes, I will consider it."
"Good!" he said. "Talk it over with Jake! If he doesn't view it reasonably, send him to me! But I think he will, you know. I think he will."
He turned as if to go; but paused and after a moment turned back. With an air half-imperious, half-whimsical, he held out upon the palm of his hand the sapphire and diamond ring which till that moment he had worn.
"As a token of the friendship between us," he said, "will you take this back? No, don't shake your head! It means nothing. But I wish you to have it, and--if ever the need should arise--the need of a friend, remember!--send it to me!"
She looked at him with serious eyes. "Charlie, I would rather not."
"It isn't sentiment," he said, with a quick lift of the brows. "It is a token--just a token whereby you may test my friendship." Then, as she still stood dubious: "Here, take it! He is coming."
He almost thrust it upon her, and wheeled round. She did not want to take it, but the thing was in her hand. Her fingers closed upon it almost mechanically as Jake opened the door, and as they did so she was conscious of a great flood of colour that rose and covered face and neck. She turned her back to the light as one ashamed.
Jake came in slowly, as if weary.
Saltash greeted him with airy nonchalance. "Hullo, Bolton! I came round to enquire for you. How's the broken crown?"
Jake's eyes regarded him, bright, unswervingly direct. "I reckon that was real kind of your lordship," he said. "I had it stitched this morning. I am sorry I omitted to send help along last night."
Saltash laughed. "Oh, that's all right. I hardly expected it of you. As a matter of fact the car didn't turn over as you supposed. I soon righted her. You were a bit damaged, eh?"
Jake's eyes were still upon him. There was something formidable in their straight survey. "So the car didn't turn over," he said, after a moment.
"No. If you'd hung on a bit tighter, you wouldn't have been pitched out. Old Harris brought you safe home, did he? No further mishaps by the way?"
"None," said Jake. He advanced into the room, and stopped by the table. His riding-whip was in his hand. "I came home too dazed to give an intelligible account of myself," he said, speaking very deliberately, wholly without emotion. "My wife imagined that I was not sober. Will your lordship be good enough to convince her that she was mistaken?"
"I?" said Saltash.
"You, my lord." Jake stood at the table, square and determined. "I was in your company. You can testify--if you will--that up to the time of the accident I was in a perfectly normal condition. Will you tell her so?"
Saltash was facing him across the table. There was a queer look on his swarthy face, a grimace half-comic, half-dismayed.
As Jake ended his curt appeal he shrugged and spoke. "You are putting me in a very embarrassing position."
"I am sorry," said Jake steadily. "But you are the only witness that I can call."
"And why should she accept my testimony?" said Saltash. "Evidence given, so to speak, at the sword's point, my good Bolton, is seldom worth having. Moreover, if she had seen my crazy driving last night she might have been disposed to doubt whether my own condition were above suspicion."
"I see," said Jake slowly. He still looked hard into Saltash's face, and there was that in the look that quelled derision. "In that case, there is nothing more to be said."
Saltash made him a slight bow that was not without a touch of hauteur. "I quite agree with you. It is an unprofitable subject. With Mrs. Bolton's permission I will take my leave."
He turned to her, took and pressed her hand, sent a sudden droll smile into her grave face, and walked to the door.
Jake held it open for him, but very abruptly Saltash clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come along, man! I'm going round the Stables. I'm sorry you've got a sore head, but I'm off to town this afternoon, so it's now or never. By the way, we shall have to postpone the luncheon-party til a more convenient season. I've no doubt it's all the same to you."
He had his way. Jake went with him, and Maud drew a breath of deep relief. She felt that another private interview with her husband just then would have been unendurable.
She sat down and leaned upon the table, feeling weak and unnerved. Not till several minutes had passed did she awake to the fact that she was holding Saltash's ring--that old dear gift of his--tightly clasped within her quivering hands.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE VISITOR
"I do hope as I don't intrude," said Mrs. Wright, passing her handkerchief over her shining forehead. "I didn't mean to take the liberty of calling, Mrs. Bolton, but your husband met my Tom the other day, and something he let fall made me think p'raps you'd be finding it a bit lonely; so I thought I'd come up on the chance."
"It was very kind of you," Maud said.
She sat with her visitor in the little dark front room in which Jake kept his business books, his whips, and all the paraphernalia of his calling. It was a bare, office-like apartment, and reeked horribly of Jake's tobacco; but Bunny was lying in the parlour and he had strenuously set his face against admitting the worthy Mrs. Wright there.
It was extremely cold, and Maud felt pinched and inhospitable. The grate was full of shavings, the whole place was cheerless and forlorn. It was a room that she scarcely ever entered, regarding it in fact more as Jake's office than an alternative sitting-room.
Mrs. Wright, however, stout, red, comfortable, did not feel the cold. She sat with her umbrella propped against her chair and regarded her stiff young hostess with much geniality on her homely face.
"You do look like a princess in a cottage, my dear, if you'll allow me to say so," she said. "And how are you getting on? I hope Jake's a good husband to you. I feel sure he would be. He's such an honest fellow. I often says to Tom, 'Give me a plain honest man like Jake Bolton,' I says; 'he's a man in a thousand.' I'm sure you think so yourself, Mrs. Bolton."
Maud, not knowing quite what to say, replied with reserve that she had no doubt he was. She was wondering if she could possibly offer Mrs. Wright tea in that dreadful little room of Jake's and if she would ever get rid of her if she didn't.
Mrs. Wright, serenely unconscious of the troublous question vexing her soul, went comfortably on. "I've often thought that if it had pleased the Almighty to send me a daughter, Jake's just the man I would have chosen for her. I like them eyes of his. They're so straight. But mind you, I think he has a temper of his own. Mayhap you've never met with it yet?"
She looked at Maud slyly out of merry little slits of eyes, and chuckled at the flush that rose in the girl's face.
"He certainly never loses it in my presence," Maud said stiffly.
Mrs. Wright's chuckle became a laugh. "Lor', my dear, you needn't be shy with me. He worships you; now, don't he? I saw that the first time I laid eyes on you. That was when you was waiting for him to come and take you in to supper, and my Tom came first. I said to myself then, 'Ah, Jake, young man, it's plain to see where your fancy lies.' And I laughed to myself," said Mrs. Wright, still chuckling. "For I couldn't help thinking he was ambitious to lift his eyes to a real lady. Not that in my opinion a man who is a man isn't good enough for any woman, and I'm sure you think the same. And then, you know, he's that fond of children, is Jake. The wonder to my mind is not that he's married now, but that he stayed single so long."
"He is very fond of my young brother," Maud observed.
"Ah! Is he now? The poor little lad is a cripple, isn't he? Many's the time I've watched you go by my shop-window. It's the wool shop at the corner of East Street with one window that looks over the sea. I used to wish you'd drop in to buy something, my dear; but you never did. P'raps now you'll manage to find your way round there some day."
"Thank you," Maud said. "But I so seldom go anywhere. My brother takes up all my time."
Mrs. Wright's rubicund face took a look of disappointment, but she still smiled; it was a face that lent itself to smiles. "It isn't to be expected that he'd want to come," she said. "But I'd be very pleased to see you both any time. What a good sister you are to him, my dear! I hope as he appreciates you."
Maud's heart smote her suddenly. She realized that she had been ungracious. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Wright," she said, with more of cordiality than she had yet shown. "I will try to run in some day."
Mrs. Wright looked enchanted on the instant. "My dear, I'd be delighted! Come any time of day, just when it suits you! Tom and me, we live alone now. He's such a good son. He keeps a hair-dresser's saloon, you know, at the side of the shop. That's how we come to know Mr. Bolton. He comes as regular as possible every third week to have his hair cut. Such a head of hair it is--hair such as a woman would give her eyes for. It's to be hoped he'll get a little daughter some day, as'll take after him. Your eyes and his hair--wouldn't she be a picture!"
Maud's geniality passed like a light extinguished. She became statuesque. "How soon the light goes!" she said, with a glance towards the darkening window.
"Yes; don't it?" said Mrs. Wright.
There fell a silence most unusual with Mrs. Wright. With an effort Maud dispelled it.
"We are very much interested in the horses. You heard of the Mascot's victory at Graydown?"
Mrs. Wright came out of her silence, shook herself together, as it were, and smiled again. "Now, isn't that nice for Jake? He's that wrapped up in the animals, and to have you interested in 'em too! Now I should be jealous of 'em if it was me!"
It was at this point that Jake himself threw open the door and entered, stopping short within the room in surprise to find it occupied.
Mrs. Wright laughed aloud. "There, now! You didn't expect to find me in possession, did you? How de do, Jake? What's happened to your head?"
Jake advanced with extended hand. "Hullo, it's Mother Wright!" he said, and to Maud's amazement stooped and kissed her. "If this isn't a real pleasure! But what are you doing in here? My head made a hole in the road coming home from the races the other night, and it is still too sore a subject for discussion."
"Now--now, Jake!" protested Mrs. Wright.
"Fact!" he assured her, with the candid smile that Maud had seen but little of late. "But now what are you doing in here, I want to know? This place is like a vault. Come along into the parlour and have some tea!"
He had not so much as glanced at Maud; she spoke suddenly, with nervous haste. "Bunny is in the parlour, Jake. He may be dozing."
"We'll soon wake him up," said Jake,
He drew Mrs. Wright's tightly-gloved hand through his arm and turned to the door. But she held him back, laughing.
"Jake! Jake! You've forgotten something."
"What's that?" said Jake.
She told him amid many fat chuckles. "Why, you've kissed me, and you haven't kissed your wife. Come, now, that's not right, and you but just married. I know you're wanting to, so don't be shy! I've been a bride myself, and I know all about it."
She would have withdrawn her hand from Jake's arm, but he would not suffer it.
"No, no!" he said, with a careless laugh. "We don't do our kissing in public. Guess it isn't a genial enough atmosphere either. Come along, Mother! You'll perish in here."
He led her from the room, still without glancing in Maud's direction, and drew her along the narrow passage to the door of the parlour.
Maud followed with a stateliness that veiled a burning embarrassment.
She listened for Bunny's voice at the opening of the door, and instantly heard it raised in cracked remonstrance.
"Here, I say! Don't bring anyone in here! Oh, it's you, Jake! I thought it was Maud. I thought----"
His voice suddenly ended in what she felt to be the silence of disgust, and Jake's accents very measured, very determined, took up the tale.
"This is my young brother-in-law, Mrs. Wright, Sir Bernard Brian, commonly called Bunny. Well, Bunny, my lad, I've brought you a visitor to tea."
Bunny growled an inarticulate response, and Mrs. Wright covered all deficiencies with her cheery chuckle.
"So nice to see you so cosy and comfortable, my dear. I hope as I'm not intruding too much. Do you know, Jake, I don't think I'd better stop to tea? It's getting dark, and Tom'll be wondering."
"Let him wonder!" said Jake. "I'll see you home all in good time. You know you always have tea when you come to see me. It's seldom enough you come too. Maud," for the first time he addressed her directly, and in his voice was a new note of authority such as she had never heard before, "order the tea, will you? We will have it at once."
It was a distinct command. Maud's delicate neck stiffened instinctively. She crossed the room in silence, and rang the bell.
The summons was answered with unusual promptitude by Mrs. Lovelace, who entered with the supper-cloth on her arm and was greeted by the visitor with much joviality.
"How is it I never see you round our way, Sarah? Have you quite forgotten your old friends?"
"Not at all, Mrs. Wright, ma'am," said Mrs. Lovelace, dexterously flinging her cloth over the table. "But I've been a bit busy, you see, what with one thing and another, and me time's been occupied."
"What on earth are you spreading that cloth for?" here broke in Bunny, in irritable astonishment. "We never have that for tea."
Mrs. Lovelace looked at him with dignity and hitched one shoulder. "We always has a good spread when Mrs. Wright comes to see the master," she said, in a tone that conveyed a distinct reproof for ill-timed interference.
Bunny subsided into sullen silence, and Mrs. Wright laughed again. "I remember as it always used to be a heavy tea," she said. "But I don't suppose a young gentleman like you would know what such things mean. Now, I do hope you won't put yourself out on my account, Mrs. Bolton. It's true I'm not accustomed to drawing-room meals, never had tea on my lap in my life. But there, you might say as I haven't got much lap left to have it on. Is that sardines you've got there, Sarah? Ah, you always remember my pet weakness. Well, Jake, my dear, I haven't congratulated you yet on your marriage. I hope it's going to be a very prosperous one. I don't doubt as you've got a wife to be proud of, and I hope you'll pull together well and make each other happy and comfortable; and may you have your heart's desire, Jake, which--if I know you properly--isn't very far to seek!"
"That's real kind of you, Mother," said Jake sombrely.
He had seated himself near Bunny whose brows were drawn in an ominous scowl.
In spite of the fire that roared up the chimney, the atmosphere was very far from being a genial one. Jake's eyes, compellingly bright, were fixed upon Maud, who though burningly conscious of his regard refused persistently to raise her own. She was bitterly resentful of Jake's attitude. It placed her in an intolerable position from which she felt herself powerless to break free. She had no desire to treat this impossible old woman churlishly, but somehow Jake forced her to a more acute realization of the great gulf that stretched between them. She could not even pretend to be cordial in his presence. She sat tongue-tied. Mrs. Wright, however, chatted on with the utmost complacence. She was plainly quite at her ease with Jake and she kept the conversation going without an effort, despite Maud's obvious embarrassment and Bunny's evident impatience.
She made a hearty meal, urged on by Jake who presently bestowed the whole of his attention upon her, seeming to dismiss his wife and brother-in-law from his mind.
"I really must be going," she declared at length, having detailed all the local gossip she could think of for his delectation. "You shouldn't encourage me so, Jake. I'm sure you'll all be tired out."
"I reckon you're just the most welcome visitor that ever darkens my doors," said Jake, rising with her. "Now, you're not to hurry. I'm going to tell them to put the horse in."
"No, no, Jake, my dear, don't you! I'd sooner walk. I would indeed. It does me good, and it's too cold to-night for driving. No, and I'm not going to let you see me home either. I'd know the way blindfold, and I'm not that nervous. Oh, there now! What's this?"
Mrs. Lovelace had just thrown open the door with some pomp. She entered, bearing an enormous bunch of violets which she proceeded to present to Maud with the ceremonious announcement: "Lord Saltash's compliments, ma'am, and will you do him the honour to accept these?"
"Oh my! How lovely!" cried Mrs. Wright.
Maud said nothing. She took the violets and held them up to her face.
Jake glanced at her momentarily, and thence to Mrs. Lovelace who had come forward to help Mrs. Wright into her cloak.
"Is Lord Saltash at the door?" he asked.
Mrs. Lovelace gave a start, as if something in the query surprised her. "No sir, the flowers was brought by a groom," she said.
Jake said no more, but something in his silence sent the ever-ready colour flooding Maud's face and neck. She bent a little lower over the violets, saying no word.
Mrs. Wright came clumsily into the breach. "But aren't they lovely, to be sure? Never did I see such beauties. And the scent of 'em, why, the room is full of it! Isn't that kind of Lord Saltash now?"
"They have a great quantity at the Castle," Maud said in muffled tones.
She held the flowers for Mrs. Wright to smell, and at the same moment Jake reached forth and took them from her outstretched hand.
"You take 'em if you like 'em, Mother. We get more of 'em than we want," he said, in leisurely tones, and thrust the bouquet forthwith into her astonished grasp.
"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs. Wright, between dismay and delight. "But--but they was a present to Mrs. Bolton. I couldn't really! No, that I couldn't!"
"Take 'em!" Jake said. He was smiling a smile of deadly determination and his leisurely utterance held something of a fateful quality that induced Mrs. Wright to hush her remonstrances and turn appealingly to Maud.
The latter was standing erect and still with eyes of burning blue fixed steadily upon emptiness. She made no response whatever to her visitor's unspoken appeal, it seemed that she did not even see it.
"It's all right, Mother," smiled Jake. "You take 'em home and enjoy 'em. As a matter of fact, Maud and I are getting a bit fed up with 'em ourselves. Yes, I'm going to see you home. I'd rather."
"And I'd rather not, Jake," Mrs. Wright asserted with sudden decision. An odd expression of sternness had come into her jolly countenance. It sat very strangely there. She came close to Maud, and as the girl extended a stiff hand in farewell she took it and pressed the flowers into it. "They're not Jake's to give," she said, "and I'm not going to deprive you of 'em. Thank you kindly for a very good tea, Mrs. Bolton, my dear. And now I'll wish you good-bye. If there's ever anything as I can do for you, you must let me know."
The words, the tone, were full of kindly comprehension, a sympathy too subtle for outward expression. Maud looked into eyes of shining friendliness, and as if a sudden shaft of sunlight had caught her heart, her bitterness melted into something that was near akin to gratitude.
She held up the violets with a smile. "Wait a moment!" she said. "I would like you to have some of them."
She untied them with the words, divided the great bunch, and gave back a generous half into Mrs. Wright's plump hand.
"Now, that's very good of you, dear," said Mrs. Wright. "I shall just treasure them violets. They'll make me think of you whenever I look at 'em. They're just the colour of your eyes. Good-bye, and thank you most kindly."
It was then that Maud did a thing that amazed herself, impelled thereto by that subtle sympathy which she had so little expected to meet. She bent her stately neck and kissed the red, smiling face uplifted in such honest admiration to hers. "Good-bye, Mrs. Wright," she said. "And thank you for coming. I shall try to come and see you one day--when I can make time."
"Any time, dear, any time!" beamed Mrs. Wright. "Drop in just whenever you feel inclined! I'm most always there." She gave her a hearty hug with the words, and then, as if afraid that this demonstration had been too ardent, she turned and trotted to the door.
"Good-bye, Jake! Good-bye! There, now, I've forgotten Sir Brian. You must excuse me for being so stupid."
"Oh, don't trouble!" said Bunny, with ironical courtesy. "Pray don't come back on my account!"
She looked back at him from the threshold, a very motherly compassion on her jolly face.
"Poor little lad!" she murmured pityingly. "How sadly he looks, to be sure! Good-bye, then, Sir Brian! I won't come back. Now, Jake, I'll let you see me to the door-step--no further. The moon's up, and Tom'll be sure to come and meet me." She started down the passage with Jake behind her, her voice dwindling as she went. "I'm so glad as I've seen your princess, Jake. I think she's lovely. Mind you're very good to her! She's high born, you know, Jake, my boy; better-class than you and me. I never see anyone so proud and so dainty. You be kind to her, my lad, and see you treat her like the lady she is!"
Jake's reply, if he made one, was inaudible.
"Common old hag!" growled Bunny from his sofa.
Maud said nothing at all. Her face was hidden in her violets, and she was as one who heard not.
CHAPTER XXIX
HER OTHER SELF
It was on an afternoon in mid-January that Maud found herself for the first time in the precincts of Burchester Castle. She had heard nothing of Lord Saltash since his departure for town, though gifts of flowers arrived at regular intervals from his hot-houses; and it seemed that his absence was to be indefinitely prolonged. She almost hoped that it would be so, for though he was practically her only friend his presence was not an unalloyed pleasure. She felt more at ease when he was away.
On this particular afternoon she had left Bunny wrapped up in his long chair and lying in the summer-house that overlooked the field where Jake was occupied in breaking in a wild young colt. The day was fine and unusually warm. Bunny was in a contented mood and, since Jake was close at hand, she did not see why she should not leave him for a space. He had been needing her less and less of late, and though his behaviour towards herself had undoubtedly undergone a considerable improvement, it was becoming very evident to her that he vastly preferred Jake's masculine companionship to her own. He was in fact so devoted to Jake that he would endure correction from him without a murmur, a state of affairs that Maud vaguely resented, without knowing why. They were such close allies that she often felt herself to be superfluous. Neither by day nor by night was her presence any longer essential.
She knew that she ought not to regret this, for it meant that Bunny's health was very materially improving; but yet at the heart of her there often came a pang. She missed his dependence upon her with a poignancy that was very hard to bear.
And so for the first time that afternoon she decided to avail herself of Lord Saltash's permission to use the piano at the Castle. She had an intense love of music and a natural gift for it which she had never been able to develop very freely.
Charlie was musical too. Some of her happiest hours had been spent at the piano with him in the old days. He was an accomplished musician himself, and he had given her many a lesson and valuable hint. She sometimes thought that it was over the piano that her heart had first gone out to his.
She did not want to recall those happy times they had had together. They lay far behind her with her buried youth. But the longing to make music was strong upon her. It had risen out of her loneliness like a fiery thirst in the desert, and she yearned to gratify it.
And after all why should she not? Charlie was away. There was no one to know or care how she spent her time. It was obviously and unquestionably her own.
Jake had wholly ceased to take any interest in her doings. He treated her as the most casual acquaintance. When he greeted her, he never so much as touched her hand. He was everything to Bunny, he was nothing to her; and every day it seemed to her that he drew a little further away from her. She had tried to make overtures more than once, but he never seemed to understand. He would look at her in his straight, impenetrable way, and pass deliberately on to some other matter, whether with intention or not she could never wholly decide. He had never tried to be kind to her since the day that she had refused to hear his proffered explanation.
A great bitterness was growing up within her. She felt as if he had deprived her of all she cared for, and given her nothing in return. It was in part this bitterness of spirit that drove her to Burchester Castle that day, and, added thereto, an intense and feverish desire to escape if only for an hour from the atmosphere of her daily existence. She felt as if it were crushing out her individuality, and she longed desperately to be herself, her best and happiest self, if only for an hour.
So, with no word to any but Bunny of her intention, she passed up the long fir avenue to the Castle with the winter sun sinking red behind her.
The great stone building frowned upon her as she drew near. She approached it with a certain awe. The dark windows seemed to gaze at her. The massive entrance yawned to receive her.
She stepped into the echoing Gothic porch, and found herself confronted by a massive oak door. The electric bell at the side of this, however, was reassuring, and she rang it without hesitation.
While she waited for the door to open she amused herself by examining the gargoyles that surmounted the pillars of the porch,--jeering, demon faces that made her shiver. There was about the place an ecclesiastical dignity at which those faces seemed to mock. The thought of Saltash went through her. Saltash in a derisive mood was strikingly like one of these.
The door opened with noiseless state, and an ancient man-servant stood before her. He looked at her with grave enquiry, and with a touch of nervousness she explained her presence.
"I am Mrs. Bolton. Lord Saltash is away, I know; but he has given me permission to use his piano. I thought I should like to do so this afternoon."
The old man stood back and bowed before her. "Come in, madam!" he said.
She entered with a curious sensation of unreality, and found herself in an immense stone hall, carpeted with rich Persian rugs, and splendidly warmed by a great fire that roared in an open fireplace. The sense of ecclesiastical austerity completely vanished as soon as the door closed behind her. The whole atmosphere became luxurious, sensuous, Eastern. There were some wonderful pieces of statuary, some in marble and some in bronze, placed here and there, that were of anything but monastical design. One in particular in a niche in the stone wall caught Maud's eyes as she followed her guide--a nude, female figure with wings, one of which was spread like an eagle's pinion as though to soar, while the other trailed back, broken, drooping, powerless. It was a wonderful marble, and she paused before it almost involuntarily. The arms of the figure were outstretched and straining upwards, the head flung back, and in the face such anguish, such longing, such passionate protest as thrilled her through and through.
The old butler paused also. "That," he said in his decorous monotone, "is Spentoli'sFallen Woman. His lordship prefers to call itThe Captured Angel. A very valuable piece of sculptury, I believe, madam. Quite one of the features of the place. His lordship sets great store by it, and it is universally admired by all visitors."
"It is wonderful," Maud said. But yet she turned her eyes away almost immediately. There was something about that mute, agonized figure of womanhood that she felt she could not bear to look upon except in solitude.
The butler stumped on down the great hall, and she followed, to a grand oak staircase that divided into two half-way up and led to a panelled gallery that ran along three sides of the hall. Solemnly they mounted. A high oak door confronted them at the top which the old man threw open with much ceremony.
"The grand piano, madam, is over by the west window," he said, and with another deep bow withdrew, closing the door without sound behind her.
Maud went forward into the room. The first impression she received was of great loftiness. It was a huge apartment, oak-panelled, and with a floor of polished oak. The whole of one side of the room was lighted by south windows that looked out over terraced gardens to the pine-woods of the park. At the end was a turret in the western angle of the wall, and here stood the piano, full in the glow of the sinking sun. There were two fireplaces in the room, and in the one nearer to the piano a red still fire was burning. A low couch stood before it, and a great tiger-skin--the only rug in the whole vast place--was spread on the hearth. There were other couches and strangely-shaped divans in the room, but no chairs, and only one small table. The whole effect was spacious and Eastern, curiously attractive to the senses and yet curiously elusive.
Maud went over the uncovered floor, treading lightly, with a feeling of having entered an enchanted land,--a feeling not wholly pleasant of being caught in a fairy web of subtleties from which she might not find it easy to escape.
The whole atmosphere breathed of Saltash. She was sure that he had designed every elusive detail.
The piano was thrown invitingly open. A French song was on the rack. It had the appearance of having been placed there but a moment before. A sudden doubt assailed her, a sensation as of having walked unwittingly into a trap. Some force had drawn her hither, some magnetism had surely been at work.
The impulse came to her then to turn and go, yet she resisted it. Later, it seemed to her that she had lacked the motive power to do aught but move straight to the piano and drop onto the music-stool before the keys. Her hands went out to them, and suddenly she was playing, at first very softly, then with gathering tone as she felt the instrument respond to her touch, till at length all sense of strangeness left her, and she began to sing the little French ditty that once had been one of her favourites! She had never heard her own voice to greater advantage than in that lofty music-room. It was a mezzo, sweet rather than powerful, with a ringing, bell-like quality that Charlie had been wont to compare to the tentative notes of a bullfinch. He had always declared that she was afraid of the sound of it, but this was certainly not the case to-day. The glad notes left her lips, true and free and birdlike. The heart within her had suddenly grown light.
The song came to an end. Her fingers began to wander idly over the keys. She played a dreamy air with an old-world waltz refrain, too lost in her trance of delight to realize what she played, and again half-unconsciously she was singing, as she had sung long ago before the gates of youth.
"There has fall'n a splendid tear,From the passion flower at the gate,She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate.The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near';And the white rose weeps, 'She is late';The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear';And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'"
"There has fall'n a splendid tear,From the passion flower at the gate,She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate.The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near';And the white rose weeps, 'She is late';The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear';And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'"
"There has fall'n a splendid tear,
From the passion flower at the gate,
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate.
The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near';
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late';
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear';
And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'"
Softly, sweetly, the notes stole through the room, wandered awhile, and ceased. There fell a pause, and the girl's eyes rested dreaming on the long dark line of pine-trees red-flushed in the glow of sunset.
Then, still following her dream, she sang on.
"She is coming, my own, my sweet,Were it ever so airy a treadMy heart would hear her and beatWere it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead;Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red."
"She is coming, my own, my sweet,Were it ever so airy a treadMy heart would hear her and beatWere it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead;Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red."
"She is coming, my own, my sweet,
Were it ever so airy a tread
My heart would hear her and beat
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red."
And then she was singing the refrain, and while she sang it she awoke.
"Come into the garden, Maud,For the black bat night has flown;Come into the garden, Maud,I am here at the gate alone,I am here at the gate alone."
"Come into the garden, Maud,For the black bat night has flown;Come into the garden, Maud,I am here at the gate alone,I am here at the gate alone."
"Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat night has flown;
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone,
I am here at the gate alone."
She stopped suddenly with the conviction that a man's voice had joined hers in the singing of that refrain. Yet, if this had been so, the accompanying voice ceased as abruptly as her own. She found herself sitting in absolute silence, with every pulse racing, every nerve strained to listen.
No sound came to her. The whole great chamber was as still as death. The fire burned red and silent. There was not so much as the ticking of a clock to be heard. And yet it seemed to her that eyes watched her from some vantage point unseen. She had a firm conviction that she was not alone.
She controlled the curious excitement that possessed her, and slowly set her fingers once more on the keys. She played the old refrain again, singing it very softly, listening intently while she sang. This time she was sure--quite sure--that a man's voice hummed the air. She went on to the end, and suffered her hands to fall.
"Charlie!" she said, without turning.
There came a slight sound behind her, the click as of a spring catch. She looked round, and saw him standing against the high panelling of the wall.
"What a childish game to play!" she said, with lips that slightly trembled.
"We are all children," observed Saltash. "We may think ourselves mighty clever, but the fact remains. Greeting, my queen rose! I am enchanted to see you."
He came forward, his black brows working comically, his queer ugly face smiling a welcome.
In spite of herself, Maud smiled in answer. "But why did you pretend you weren't at home?" she said, in a voice of protest.
He laughed as he took her hand. "But I wasn't," he said. "I motored down on purpose to receive you. Are you so disappointed?"
She shook her head, but she still looked at him somewhat dubiously. "You know, Charlie," she said, "I like people to behave quite straightforwardly, and to tell the truth."
"Heavens above!" laughed Saltash. "Why so grievously moral? Well, look here, let me be quite, quite honest, and admit that it was wholly by chance that I came down here to-day. Chance or the beneficent will of the gods! Call it what you will! And, my dear girl, don't be prudish now you are married! Remember, that though it is a state of bondage there are certain liberties attached that are well worth having. Now, you are going to play and sing to me while I smoke and admire."
He turned from her and threw himself upon a low settee in the window embrasure. The scent of his cigarette came to her, aromatic, Eastern, fragrant of many subtleties. She breathed it as one who inhales the magic of the gods.
"Now, play!" he commanded, his strange, restless eyes upon her. "Play as the spirit moves you! Never mind me! I am of no account."
She had done it often before in the old days. It was not difficult to do it now, with the spell of his personality upon her. Her own spirit responded instinctively to the call of his. The sympathy between them became communion. She began to play, and, playing, lost herself in the music as one inspired.
Saltash lay without moving, as if half-asleep. He also seemed as one under a charm.
And Maud played on and on, seeing visions, steeping her soul in romance, forgetful wholly of the chain by which she was bound; forgetful also of her companion, or perhaps so merged in his individuality as to be unaware of any dividing line. It was the old, sweet dreamland that had always held them both.
Time passed, and the red sun with it. The early dark began to fall, the shining visions to wane. She came out of her trance at last with a deep sigh, and suffered her hands to fall.
Instantly Saltash sat up. "Bravo,ma belle reine! Your touch is like velvet to the senses. You have scarcely sung to me at all. But no matter! You have closed the gates now, and we can't go back. But wasn't it good? Come, be honest and say so."
She lifted her eyes to his with something of her dream still lingering there. "It was--very good," she said.
"And you'll come again?" he insinuated.
The dream began to fade. With her right hand she picked out a nervous little air on the piano, saying no word.
He leaned towards her. "Maud," he insisted, "surely you'll come again!"
"I don't know," she said slowly.
"Surely!" he said again.
Her eyes grew troubled. "Charlie," she said, her fingers still softly pressing the keys, "I can't come here when you are here. I like to come,--oh yes, I like to come. But I mustn't."
"Why not?" said Saltash. "Afraid of the cow-puncher?"
She shrank, and struck a sudden discordant chord. "I am not afraid of anyone, but I must think of appearances. I owe it to myself. I should like to come sometimes and play. But--with you here--I can't."
"All right," he said abruptly. "I'll go."
Her eyes flashed up to his. She took her hand from the piano and gave it to him. "You are going to be a true friend to me, Charlie," she said.
He smiled rather wryly. "My friendship is to take a somewhat negative form, it seems to me, but perhaps it will stand the strain. Have you heard anything yet about the American doctor?"
She shook her head. "No, nothing."
"And you have not laid my proposal before Jake, I gather?" he pursued, boldly keeping her hand in his.
"Not yet," she said.
"Have you given the matter your own august consideration?" he asked.
Her hand began to fidget for freedom. "I have thought about it, Charlie. I have not quite made up my mind. But you mustn't be hurt if I say No."
"I shan't be hurt," he said, slowly relaxing his hold so that her hand slipped free. "But I shall think that your love of propriety somewhat outweighs your love for Bunny."
She flushed, and turned aside to take up her gloves in silence.
He stood and watched her. "That is so like you," he said, after a moment.
She glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
He laughed lightly, but without mockery. "Your stately silences! Do you know I remember you best by your silences? It is there that you differ from all the rest of your charming sex. Other women, when they are misjudged, clamour for redress. You endure in silence, too proud to complain. I wonder if Jake has realized your silences yet."
Maud stiffened a little. "I must be going," she said. "I promised Bunny I would be back to tea."
"I'll walk back with you," Saltash said.
She shook her head. "No, I would rather go alone."
"Why don't you tackle the situation boldly and ask me to tea?" he said.
She was walking down the long room, and he sauntered beside her, smoking a cigarette, careless and debonair.
"I think it wiser not, Charlie," she said.
He laughed. "As you will. But remember, life is short. We may as well enjoy ourselves, while it lasts. Did old Billings show you up here? He is the one respectable feature of this establishment."
"Yes, he certainly is respectable," she agreed, with a smile. "But where were you when I came in? You didn't come through this door."
He laughed again in a fashion half-mocking, half-secretive. "That is my affair,ma belle reine. Some day I may show you--several things; but that day has not dawned yet."
He threw open the door, and they found the great hall below them ablaze with electric light. "I suppose I may accompany you downstairs," he observed.
"What a wonderful place it is!" Maud said.
Her eyes went almost involuntarily to the statue that had arrested her attention on entering. It shone from its niche with a white splendour that seemed to give forth light.
"MyCaptured Angelhas the place of honour by night and by day," said Saltash. "I have been wanting you to see her, or perhaps it would be more correct to say, I have been wanting to see you together. Have you ever met your other self before?"
"My other self?" She looked at him interrogatively.
He made her a quizzical bow. "Have you never seen that face before?"
She descended the stairs, and approached the statue. They stood together before it. She had desired to see it in solitude before, but with Saltash by her side that desire had left her. They viewed it from the same standpoint, in that subtle communion of spirit that had always characterized their intercourse.
And she saw--as he saw--her own features carved in the marble, piteous, tragic, alive.
"PoorCaptured Angel!" murmured Saltash softly. "So fair of face, so sad of soul!"
She did not respond. She felt as if in that recognition something had pierced her heart. It was like a revelation of things to come. So for awhile she stood, gazing upon that tragic figure of broken womanhood; and finally in silence turned away.
He went with her to the door, but he did not offer a second time to accompany her farther. On the threshold she gave him her hand in farewell.
"You will come again?" he said.
She met his strange, unstable eyes for a moment and fancied that they pleaded with her.
"Not to see you, Charlie," she said, and was conscious in a vaguely troubled way that the words cost her an effort.
His eyes flashed her a laugh. "No, not to see me," he said lightly. "Of course not. Just for your own enjoyment. You will enjoy that piano, you know. And you can have it all to yourself."
She smiled in spite of herself even against her will. "Very well," she said. "I will come again some day, And thank you very much."
"Oh, don't do that!" he protested. "It spoils everything."
She released her hand, and turned from him, still smiling. "Good-bye!" she said.
"Farewell, Queen of the roses!" he made light response.
She passed through the wide stone porch and out into the dark of the winter evening.