The Hundredth Chance

He leaned further forward, stretched out a quiet hand that grasped and held her own.

He took the pipe from her with the utmost gentleness and laid it aside; but he kept her hand, and after a moment he left his chair and knelt beside her.

She did not draw back from him, but she stiffened on the instant. Her breathing quickened.

There followed a silence, which she found peculiarly hard to bear, and which she eventually broke.

"Perhaps I ought to go to Bunny for a little. He will feel neglected."

"He's not expecting you," said Jake. "Say, – Maud!"

"What is it?" she said.

She strove for composure and attained an aloofness that startled herself. He released her hand and began to gather up the litter of tobacco in her lap.

"I was going to speak to you about Bunny," he said. "I've settled to sleep with him to-night."

"You?" She looked at him in quick surprise.

He was not looking at her, being too intent upon his task. The firelight shone red on his bent head. "Yes, I," he said. "You can sleep in my room. I've had it got ready for you."

The calm decision with which he spoke nearly took her breath away. "Oh, but-but-" she began.

He looked up, and she saw his frank, reassuring smile. It sent a curious thrill of relief through her. It was such a smile as would have gained the confidence of a child.

"That's all right," he said. "Don't you start making difficulties, because there aren't any at present. I've fixed it all. You're going to bed to-night without any cares, and you're going to sleep the clock round. See?"

"I couldn't sleep-away from Bunny," she said, somewhat breathless still, notwithstanding the comforting kindliness of his eyes.

"I reckon you'll have to try," he said. "And if it's any comfort to you to know it, Bunny is charmed with the idea."

His words sent an odd dismay to her heart. With this lightening of her burden, she seemed to see Bunny slipping away from her, – Bunny, who filled her world.

Jake was on the point of rising from his knees when she laid a detaining hand upon his arm. "Jake," she said, with slight hesitation, "it-it is more than kind of you to think of this. But do you know I would rather-really rather-go on in the old way and look after Bunny myself at night? You can help me in the daytime if you will. But-but-at night, – Jake, please, let me take care of him at night!"

There was entreaty in her voice. Jake remained beside her, his hand grasping the arm of her chair. Once more she was conscious of the warmth of the man as of a force that emanated from him. Her fingers closed almost beseechingly upon his sleeve.

"Say," he said slowly at last, "is it for your own sake-or for Bunny's?"

She quivered at the question. He was looking past her into the fire. She had a feeling that he was deliberately compelling himself to do so.

"I have always mothered Bunny," she said rather piteously. "I-shouldn't feel easy about him if-if I were not within reach."

"Is that quite true?" said Jake.

"True!" she echoed.

He nodded two or three times. "Is it quite true that you wouldn't feel easy-absolutely easy-about leaving the boy in my charge?"

She hesitated.

"Now, don't mind me!" he said. "Be honest! I'm honest myself."

She hesitated still.

He turned his head slowly and looked at her, "It's not-quite-true, is it?" he said.

Her eyes fell before his. "Very well," she said, her voice very low. "We will say it is entirely for my own sake. I want to be with him at night."

Jake was silent a moment. Then: "That's a pity," he said, "because I'm afraid the matter is practically settled. Of course I'd call you if he needed you," he added.

She drew her hand from beneath his. "You have settled it between you, I see," she said, with a small, pinched smile.

He got up and solidly returned to his chair. "Yes, that's so. I don't say we are going to make a rule of it. But for to-night anyway-"

She interrupted him suddenly, with the vehemence of an abrupt resolution. "No, Jake. It must be one thing or the other. I can't have this discussion over again. So please understand that after to-night we shall return to the usual arrangement, which is far the best for us all."

She spoke with nervous force. She was for the moment painfully afraid of being mastered by this man whose strength was still such an unknown quantity that she braced herself to test it as though she were challenging a giant.

Jake was digging in the bowl of his pipe with a penknife, and was for the moment too engrossed with the matter to look up. At length, however, he stuck the pipe into his mouth and began to search his pockets for matches. He found one loose, and bent to strike it on the heel of his boot. She watched him with a growing uneasiness. Would he never speak?

The rasp of the match set her nerves on edge. She rose and stood before the fire, very slim and straight.

Jake puffed at his pipe with immense deliberation, and in a moment the burning match sped past her into the flames. He lay back in his chair with his legs stretched out, his hands in his pockets, and regarded her.

She turned to him at length, meeting the untamed glitter of his eyes with stern composure. "Jake!"

"My girl!" said Jake.

She shivered suddenly and uncontrollably. He spoke as if-as if he had a proprietary right over her. She read ownership-and the pride of ownership-in his look. Abruptly she turned her back upon him. Just so might he look upon one of his favourite horses. It was the look of the master, admiring, arbitrary, possessive; and with all her soul she resented it.

She stood a moment gripping the mantelpiece, gathering her strength. Then without another word she drew herself up and walked out of the room.

She knew even as she closed the door that by strength she would never prevail against him. She might beat her will to atoms against his, but not by a hair's breadth would she thus turn him from the course upon which he was set.

CHAPTER XIX

THE DAY AFTER

When Maud slept that night, it was the deep, deep sleep of exhaustion. All the pressing cares of the past few months, all the strenuous efforts, the unremitting anxieties, had culminated in one vast burden which had at last overweighted her strength. Against her will the burden had been lifted from her, but now that it was gone she slept and slept. No dreams pierced that intense repose. She lay without stirring, as though the ancient spell had been renewed and laid upon her.

The room in which she lay overlooked the whole stone-paved length of the stable-yard, but no voice or stamping of hoofs awaked her. The cheery sounds of the coming day did not even vaguely penetrate her rest. Body and soul were wrapped in complete oblivion while hour after hour went by.

There had been snow in the night, and the sun arose upon a world of dazzling whiteness. The toy fir-trees were mantled in it. The stable-roofs gleamed in a thousand sparkles.

She had pulled up the blind before lying down, and the reflection lit up the room with an ever-growing brightness. She opened her eyes at last quite suddenly and stared at the oak-beamed ceiling.

The next instant she turned sharply on her side, aware of a furtive movement in the room. Someone-a man-was on his knees before the grate, stealthily coaxing the fire to burn. She had a glimpse of brown leggings and a rough tweed suit. There were spurs on his heels that shone like silver. His red-brown head was on a level with the bars at which he was softly blowing.

As she moved a flame shot up in response to his efforts and he turned, still kneeling, and looked at her.

"Say, you've had a real good night for once," he said in a voice of soft approval. "How do you feel yourself this morning?"

Maud, crimson-faced, searched for words and found none. It was one of the most difficult moments she had ever had to endure.

Jake glanced at the fire, pushed the poker into it, and got to his feet. He came to her side.

"Don't be mad with me!" he pleaded humbly. "Someone had to light the fire, and old Lovelace is busy."

He smiled as he said it, and when Jake smiled he was hard to resist. Maud suddenly found the difficulties of the situation swept away. With Jake in a docile mood she found it comparatively easy to deal.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, and with slight hesitation extended a hand to him. "It was kind of you to light the fire though I could have done very well without it."

He took the hand very respectfully. She even had a faint suspicion that he also was secretly embarrassed. "The room faces due north," he said. "It had to be done, though I hoped you wouldn't wake."

"Thank you," she said again, and withdrew her hand from his steady, all-enveloping grasp. "How-how is Bunny?"

He smiled again with more assurance. His strong white teeth were very good to see. "He had a splendid night. I've got him up and dressed. He is downstairs, waiting for you to take him out."

This piece of diplomacy obviously came to Jake as an inspiration. His smile broadened at the brightening of her face.

Maud raised herself on her elbow and pushed the thick hair back from her forehead. "You are very good," she said gratefully. "Please, will you go now, and let me get up?"

He turned at once to the door, but paused as he reached it. "Say, Maud," he said tentatively; "there's a breakfast-tray waiting for you. May I bring it up?"

"Oh, please don't!" she said hurriedly. "I never breakfast in bed. Besides-"

"I'll put it outside the door then," said Jake, and was gone.

She heard him clatter down the uncarpeted stairs, whistling as if well-pleased with himself, and as she reviewed his unceremonious behaviour she decided to treat it with the simplicity with which he evidently regarded it himself. There was that advantage in the situation at least. His character and his conduct were wholly without subtleties-or so she imagined. When he dumped down the breakfast-tray in the passage a little later she called her thanks to him through the closed door as though he had been an old and intimate friend. Perhaps after all she had been over-fanciful the night before!

She ate her breakfast with a growing sense of reassurance, dressed, and went downstairs.

Something of an ordeal here awaited her in the form of an encounter with Mrs. Lovelace, who greeted her deferentially but with a reticence that certainly did not veil any good-will. She presented her with the household keys with the stiff remark that Mr. Bolton had desired her to do so.

Maud received them with an odd dismay. Somehow she had not visualized herself as the mistress of the establishment.

"Mr. Bolton also wished me to take your orders for dinner, ma'am," said Mrs. Lovelace, with stiff dignity. "He is accustomed to dine in the middle of the day, but I was to tell you that if you preferred a late dinner it was all one to him."

The slight emphasis on the last word did not escape Maud, and she saw at once that Mrs. Lovelace could not be considered equally indifferent on the subject.

"But of course we will dine in the middle of the day," she said at once, and was rewarded by a faint flicker of amiability on the old woman's severe countenance.

"That is as you please, ma'am," she said, with less formality, and Maud felt that she had scored a point.

She escaped from the interview at length with a sensation of relief, and hastened to Bunny whom she found awaiting her with some impatience.

The boy was in excellent spirits. He had enjoyed having Jake in attendance, and unhesitatingly he let her know it.

"Why, there's no trouble at all in being lifted by him," he said. "And, by the way, he says you're not to lift me any more. It's too much for you. I'm ready to go out now, but he will put me in the chair. He said you were to call him. He's somewhere in the stables."

Bunny's fashion of expressing himself was not a diplomatic one. Maud did not argue the matter, but as she went in search of Jake a deep resentment kindled and burned within her. So this was to be the first consequence of her rash step-the gradual removal of Bunny from her care! Bunny-her Bunny-for whose dear sake she had made the sacrifice!

Out in the stable-yard she came upon Sam Vickers sucking a straw the while he cleaned a saddle. He greeted her with a smile, and informed her that the boss was in one of the loose boxes round the corner.

Maud followed his directions, passing down a narrow passage between stalls to an open stone-paved space beyond that was surrounded by loose boxes. Here she paused, catching the sound of voices, and uncertain whence they proceeded. A bony red setter came up to her and poked a friendly nose into her hand.

She bent to fondle him, and as she did so she heard Jake speaking in a building close to her. She turned towards the voice with the intention of joining him; but, so turning, she heard the words he uttered and stood petrified. For Jake, albeit with the utmost calmness and deliberation, was speaking a language that made her blood run cold. His words came with a fluency and distinctness that made them all the more terrible. If he had been stuttering with rage, she felt it would have horrified her less. She stood rooted to the spot, white-faced and powerless, while the kindly setter fawned about her knees.

She thought the soft voice would never stop. Someone had done wrong and was being cursed for it with appalling thoroughness. Such oaths as Jake uttered she had never before heard or dreamed of, and the scathing cruelty of his speech was like a stinging lash.

No remonstrance or protest of any sort was offered in return; but after what seemed to her an intolerable length of time there came the sound of heavy, shuffling feet, and a small sandy-haired stable-lad of about seventeen came blundering out into the yard. His face was crimson and screwed up like the face of a crying baby. He sniffed emotionally as he went past her.

Maud remained where she was. She was sick with disgust. Her whole being physical and mental was in revolt. She wanted to turn and go, but something kept her there. She stood like an outraged princess, clothed in a dignity that was wholly unconscious, while Despair, grim, relentless, forced a way to her quivering heart. This-this was her husband! This coarse-mouthed brute-this monster of evil eloquence! This was the man to whom she had fled for protection, to whose chivalrous instincts she had entrusted herself! Oh, what had she done?

And then suddenly he came out upon her, striding forth, his riding-whip clenched in his hand, his brows drawn in a ruddy, threatening line.

He saw her and in a moment, magically, his face changed. The cruel, lynx-like vindictiveness went out of it. He came to her smiling.

"Hullo, Maud!" he said.

And Maud shrank, shrank visibly, so that he could not fail to see; then drew herself together, instinctively summoning her pride.

"I came to look for you," she told him, with icy aloofness. "Bunny is waiting to be moved."

"Right O!" said Jake.

He moved towards the passage by which she had entered the yard, and she walked beside him, very pale, very erect, yet tingling with a disgust that almost amounted to loathing.

They went a few yards in silence, then silence became a burden. She spoke.

"It is really quite unnecessary to trouble you. I am fully capable of moving him myself."

He turned his head towards her. "Say, Princess, what's wrong?" he said.

She quivered afresh at his tone; it had the possessive quality that she so dreaded-was beginning to abhor.

She did not answer, and he passed on with scarcely a pause. "I know you can lift the boy; but it's very bad for you, and not over good for him. Where's the point of it anyway when you've got me at hand to do it for you?"

"It is quite unnecessary to trouble you," she said again, "unnecessary and absurd."

"All right, my girl," he said unexpectedly. "Call it just one of my whims and-humour it!"

She felt herself flush. His tone-though perfectly good-tempered-had been almost one of command. As they emerged from the stone passage into the outer yard she gave abrupt rein to her indignation.

"I really cannot submit to any interference in my care of Bunny. I told you so last night, and I meant it. He has always been my especial charge, and I cannot give him up."

Jake's eyes were upon her, vigilant, intent, dominant. He spoke in a drawl that sounded to her slightly derisive. "Say, now, what will you do if Bunny is cured?"

She turned her face sharply from him. What would she do indeed? But the thing was an impossibility. She put the thought away from her.

"I am not discussing that," she said, speaking with a grim effort at calmness that cost her all her strength. "It is the present with which I am dealing now. I believe you mean to be kind, but-"

"You don't say!" interjected Jake softly.

"But," she said again, with emphasis, "it is a mistaken kindness. I am very grateful to you for your help, but really you must let me do my share."

An involuntary note of wistfulness in the last words softened the look in Jake's eyes. He even smiled a little as he said: "Bunny being the only person in the world for whom you entertain the smallest spark of affection?"

She looked at him quickly. "He is all that I have," she said, in a low tone of protest.

"That so?" said Jake deliberately. "Well, – I'm sorry."

She felt the flush deepen to crimson in her face, and she quickened her steps as they neared the house, longing to put an end to an encounter that had brought her nothing but discomfiture.

Jake lengthened his stride. He looked no longer at her, but straight ahead with the eyes of a man who reads the future. Evidently the prospect was a pleasing one, for the faint smile still lingered about his lips. She was thankful that he had not observed that painful blush of hers.

At the door of his house he paused and stood back for her to precede him; and so standing, suddenly and softly he gave utterance to the thought in his mind.

"Say, Maud," he said into her ear, "some day-when the boy is well and off your hands-I'd just enjoy to see you with a child of your own in your arms."

She started away from the whispered words, started and quivered like a wild thing trapped. For a single instant her eyes met his in open, passionate revolt; then swiftly she passed him by.

Jake followed with his lips pursed to a whistle, and a certain hard glitter replacing the dream in his eyes.

CHAPTER XX

A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY

Someone was whistling in the stable-yard with elaborate turns and trills to the accompaniment of a horse's hoofs that danced upon the stones.

It was Christmas Day, and from the church half-way down the hill there came the gay peal of bells. The stable-doors were all closed, and the yard was in perfect order. There was no one about besides the solitary whistler on horseback; and he, it seemed, had no intention of prolonging his solitude, for he was heading his horse straight for the spotless white gate that led to Jake Bolton's dwelling.

He was a young man, with a swarthy face of undeniable ugliness that yet possessed a monkeyish fascination that was all its own. His eyes laughed out of it with a merry wickedness-odd eyes, one black, one grey, that gave a most fantastic expression to his whole countenance. They were not trustworthy eyes, but they were full of humour. He had a comedian's trick of working the brows above them so that his features were scarcely ever in repose.

He sat in the saddle as one completely at home there; but there was no grace about him. His limbs seemed to be fastened on with wires, like the limbs of a marionette.

Reaching the closed white gate, he stooped from the saddle, and with the end of his riding-switch lifted the catch. On the little finger of the hand he thus extended he wore a slender gold ring in which was set a single sapphire surrounded by diamonds.

He walked his horse up the footpath to the door, and on this he beat a rousing tattoo, still without dismounting.

During the pause that ensued he whistled a few more elaborate bars of his melody, and then, coming to a break, bent and knocked again.

The door opened in haste as if agitated by the second summons, and Mrs. Lovelace, red-faced from her kitchen fire, appeared curtseying in the entrance.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, my lord! The girl's gone to church. And will your lordship be pleased to walk in? We'd only heard this morning of your lordship's return, and we'd not hardly expected to see your lordship up so soon."

"A merry Christmas to you, Lovelace!" said his lordship, with that most engaging grin of his; he leaned towards her confidentially. "Take this for love of me, in honour of the occasion!"

He slipped a coin into Mrs. Lovelace's hand that caused her to curtsey again ecstatically and wish him every blessing she could call to mind on the spur of the moment. But he laughed easily and cut her short.

"Hear, hear! But I can't stop to listen. Where's Jake Bolton? Is he in?"

"Well, no, my lord. I'm sorry to say Mr. Bolton's gone to church."

"Sorry! Oh, come, Mother Lovelace, spare my morals! I always thought going to church was an innocent amusement. Don't disabuse me of my childish fancies! But what's the good of my walking in if the boss is out and you are cooking the turkey? Unless you're wanting someone to come and turn the spit!"

Mrs. Lovelace raised hands of horrified protest. "How your lordship do carry on, to be sure! No, no, my lord! I was only thinking that you'd maybe fancy a glass of my cherry brandy with the wind in the east as it is. I'm sure as Mr. Bolton would be wishful for me to make the suggestion."

"I should prefer the cherry brandy by itself," said Lord Saltash, with a mischievous chuckle. "But I won't stay now, thanks all the same. I suppose he'll be back some time? I've never known Jake go to church before. Is he courting or what?"

Mrs. Lovelace opened her small round eyes to their widest extent. "Why, can it be as your lordship hasn't heard?"

"Heard! Heard what? Tell me quickly!" urged his lordship. "This suspense is too horrible!"

"About Mr. Bolton's marriage, sir," explained Mrs. Lovelace, looking suddenly prim.

"What!" ejaculated her listener. "You don't say Bolton's been caught?"

"The marriage took place last Sunday, my lord," said Mrs. Lovelace, still looking prim but plainly enjoying her rôle of informant.

Lord Saltash slapped his thigh with a yell of laughter. "Poor old Jake! And who is the bride?"

"Mrs. Bolton, my lord, is the step-daughter of Mr. Sheppard of the Anchor Hotel," said Mrs. Lovelace.

"Is she though? What's she like? Pretty?"

Mrs. Lovelace pursed her lips. "She is a lady, my lord, – own daughter to a baronet."

"Oh, I say!" protested Lord Saltash. "You're cramming me!"

Mrs. Lovelace looked shocked but at the same time flattered by the accusation. "Indeed, my lord, it's the truth!" she protested. "And her brother Sir Bernard Brian is in the house at the present moment. He, poor young gentleman, has the misfortune to be afflicted with a humpback."

"What? What? What? My good woman, do you know what you're talking about?" Saltash's mobile brows came suddenly low over his eyes in a heavy scowl that added years to his appearance. He leaned nearer to her. "What?" he said again.

Mrs. Lovelace paused, debating which of her statements he desired her to repeat. But ere she could make up her mind, Lord Saltash dropped with a thud to the ground. He threw his horse's bridle over the gate-post, and turned to enter.

"Just ring up one of the stable-lads, and tell him to walk Moscow up and down till I come!" he ordered, his voice no longer bland, but curt and imperious. "I should like to see this brother-in-law of Bolton's, so show me in!"

Mrs. Lovelace turned before him and scurried down the passage like a startled hen.

Lord Saltash strode after-a figure of medium height, sudden of movement, unimposing of carriage, yet withal possessing that nameless something that denotes high breeding. It was said that there was a strain of royal blood in the Burchester family, and this member of it had long been dubbed "the merry monarch" by his intimates. There was about him an inherent arrogance that no one dreamed of resenting, so essentially was it a part of himself.