The Hundredth Chance

They entered the room in which Bunny lay; and immediately a square check-clad figure rose from the boy's side and came forward with hand outstretched in greeting.

"Hullo, Doc!" said Jake.

Maud gazed at him in astonishment. "I had no idea you were up here. When-how did you come?"

Jake was faintly smiling. "I came just now, by the back way, as is my custom. I promised to be here to give him a send-off, Doctor. Guess you've no objection?"

"So long as you go when you're told," said Capper rather shortly.

"Reckon I always do that," said Jake.

"Do you?" said Capper, with his sudden smile. "That's not always been my experience of you."

"Oh, shucks!" said Jake, turning deep red.

Capper passed him by, and went to Bunny. Maud saw that he was intent upon reassuring him as he had reassured her. She turned away to the window, and waited.

Jake did not join her there, possibly because his hand was tightly locked in Bunny's. But very soon Capper called her back to the bedside, and drew her into talk, keeping her there till he finally rose and went out with the nurse.

Maud scarcely knew how she came through the next few minutes, but Jake and Bunny seemed to feel no strain. Jake was talking of the horses, and the boy's keenest interest was aroused.

"And you're going to teach me to ride like you do," he said, with an eagerness that Maud had seldom seen in him. "I'm just mad to begin."

He was picking up Jake's manner of speech in a fashion that his sister deplored but could not attempt to check; but no evil word had she ever heard on his lips, nor had she ever heard Jake use bad language in his presence.

Like one in the mesh of an evil dream she listened to Jake's reply, marvelling at the easy detachment with which he made it. And then the door opened, and the nurse came in with Rafford. She stood up, her heart beating as if it would choke her.

Bunny shot a swift glance around. "You'll stay with me, Jake?" he said quickly.

"Sure," said Jake.

Bunny drew a hard breath. "Hang on to me-tight, Jake!" he whispered.

And Maud turned to the door without a word. He did not need her-he did not need her!

She had a passing impression of the sympathy in Rafford's eyes as he held open the door for her, and then she was alone in the passage outside.

She moved along it uncertainly, almost as if groping her way, found the door of the music-room ajar, and entered.

A warm fragrance met her on the threshold, a sense of Eastern luxuriance and delight, soothing her troubled spirit as with a soft, healing hand, wooing her to a curious peace of mind. It was as though a misty veil had been drawn over her troubles, obscuring them, deadening her faculty for suffering.

She went forward to the fire that burned so mysteriously red and still, reaching out her cold hands to its comfort. She had a feeling that she ought to kneel and pray, but somehow in that strangely soothing atmosphere prayer was an impossibility. Her brain felt drugged and powerless, and she was numbly thankful for the respite.

"Come and sit down!" a cool voice said.

She turned with no surprise or agitation and saw Saltash lounging on a divan behind her. He had a cigarette between his fingers. The scent of it came to her with a strange allurement. Almost mechanically she accepted the invitation.

"Have you been here at all in my absence?" he asked, stretching a careless arm along the cushions behind her.

She shook her head. "No."

"But why not? Does Jake think I am not to be trusted?"

She smiled at that. "Oh no. Jake never interferes. But-somehow-I haven't wanted to make music lately."

"You are not happy," said Saltash, with conviction.

She coloured a little. "It has been an anxious time, Charlie, and, I am afraid, yet will be."

"You take things too hard," he said.

She clasped her hands tightly together. "How can I help it? Everything is hard. Life is hard."

"Only if you choose to have it so," said Saltash.

He leaned a little forward, looking into her face. She turned her eyes to his with a vague reluctance.

"Yes," he said. "You've got the wrong pilot on board. That's why you're getting dragged into the whirlpools. You'll have to heave him over the side if you want to ride the seas with a free helm. My dear girl, what a frightful mess you've made of things!"

She did not resent his tone. Somehow in that atmosphere resentment was difficult. Moreover, her attention was not wholly given to what he was saying.

"I had to think of Bunny," she said, after a moment, as one in search of an excuse.

Saltash laughed. "And when are you going to begin to think of yourself? Don't you realize what is going to happen now that Bunny has been taken off your hands? You, the dainty, the proud, the fastidious, who wouldn't look at even the man you loved because you thought him unworthy! On my soul, – " a sudden tremor of passion ran through his speech-"I think you were mad. You must have been mad to have done such a thing. Have you looked forward at all? Can you see yourself a few years hence? I can-and it's a sight to make angels weep. Oh, Maud, my love, my fate, is that to be the end? I'd sooner see you dead!"

His hand was upon both hers as he ended. His dark face was burning with a fierce emotion.

But Maud only shivered, and leaning forward, gazed deep into the heart of the fire, saying no word.

Saltash watched her, a mocking light in his eyes that shone and slowly died. "What are you looking for?" he said.

She shook her head in silence. He threw his cigarette suddenly into the deep glow upon which her eyes were fixed. It leaped at once to flame, flame that burned ardently for a brief while, and then went out.

"Are you trying to find a way out?" he asked her then very softly. "There is a way out of every hole, believe me."

She gave him a quick glance as of one hard pressed, but still she did not speak.

He leaned forward also, pointing to the red heart of the fire that glowed but never flickered. "If you have the nerve, – the pluck-to face the furnace," he said, "it may scorch you a bit, but it shan't consume you. And it would be soon over. Would you be afraid-would you be afraid-to face it with me?"

His voice was low, stink almost to a whisper; yet it reached her, for he spoke almost into her ear.

She sat rigidly still, gazing before her. The fragrance of the burnt cigarette came out like incense from an altar.

He drew a little closer to her. "Maud, I am always ready-always ready. I am willing to offer any sacrifice. I should never count the cost. Nothing could be too much. I don't say any more that you are mine-unless you stoop to bestow yourself upon me. But I am yours-always-for all time. Bear that in mind-when the time comes!" He paused a moment; then: "Let that ring of ours be the sign and message," he murmured. "When you need deliverance, I will come to you from the world's end."

He rose with the words, so suddenly that she was startled; and in a moment his voice calm and debonair rang across the room.

"Hullo, Bolton! How long have you been hiding there? Come over here, and see if you can put a little heart into your wife! She needs it."

Maud, her white face turned over her shoulder, saw Jake's square shoulders outlined against the furthest south window. He was looking over his shoulder also; their eyes met across the room. Then he turned round fully in his solid way and came to them.

He was wearing slippers that he had donned for the sick room, and they made no sound.

Saltash's lithe form straightened. He stood ready, almost on guard, at the other man's approach. But his face remained debonair still. There was even a hint of humour about his mobile brows. His eyes flashed wickedly.

"So they've turned you out, have they?" he said, with that hint of regal haughtiness that usually characterized his speech when addressing an inferior.

Jake did not answer. His eyes, red-brown and very still, were upon Maud. They did not leave her for a moment. They seemed to search her through and through.

There came to her a second of deadly panic, panic that stopped her heart. She put up a hand to her throat with a spasmodic effort to breathe. And suddenly it seemed to her that she sat engulfed in the red, red heart of a soundless furnace. She gave a gasping cry, tried to rise, and fell forward fainting at her husband's feet.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE SACRIFICE

He lifted her. She knew that he lifted her, but all her powers were gone. She hung, a dead weight, in his arms.

Over her head she heard his voice, intensely quiet but deeper than usual; she thought it held a menacing note.

"I'll take her to the window. Thanks, I'm not wanting any help from you."

She felt the strength of the man as he lifted her bodily, and bore her across the room. He set her down upon the window-seat, supporting her with the utmost steadiness while he opened the window. The wintry air blew in upon her, and she shivered and came to life.

"Don't move!" he said.

The awful weakness was still upon her; she obeyed him because she had no choice, lying back against his arm in quivering submission.

"I'm-so sorry," she whispered at length. "I-I never did anything so stupid before."

"That so?" said Jake.

She lifted her eyes with a piteous effort to his. "Please leave me now! I shall do quite well-by myself."

"That so?" he said again.

His eyes held hers with a piercing, straight regard; but after a moment his hand came up and rubbed her icy cheek. It was a small act, but it affected her very curiously. She turned her face quickly to hide a rush of tears.

Jake's attitude changed on the instant. He stooped over her, his arm about her. "Say, Maud, my girl, what is it? What is it?" he said. "The little chap will be all right. Don't you worry any!"

The old kindness was in his voice; he held her to him just as he had held her on the morning that she had first gone to him for help. For the moment she yielded herself, scarcely knowing what she did; then she realized his nearness and began to draw herself away.

"I am foolish," she whispered, "just foolish. Don't take any notice!"

"Guess you're worn out," he said gently.

She shook her head, striving to master herself. "No, it's not that. It isn't anything. Please leave me alone for a little! I would rather."

He let her go, but he still remained beside her, looking down at her bent dark head. She leaned against the woodwork of the window, panting a little.

"I am better," she said uneasily, after a moment. "Please don't worry about me any more!"

"Who else should I worry about?" he said. "Do you suppose you aren't first with me every time?"

She quivered at the question, but she made no attempt to answer it.

He went on with a restraint that was somehow eloquent of vehemence suppressed. "I know well enough that you aren't happy with me. It's not in nature that you should be. Maybe it's my fault too; maybe it's not. I've been a damn' fool; I know that. But even so, you've no call to be afraid of me. You won't come up against me if you play a straight game."

He paused, and she saw his hands slowly clench. At the same moment she became aware of someone approaching, and turned her head to see Saltash coming towards her with a wine-glass in his hand.

"Oh, that's right; you're better," he said. "Here, Bolton! Make her drink this! It'll put a little life into her."

He gave the glass to Jake who stood a moment as if undecided as to what to do with it, then bent over Maud.

She drew back. "Oh no, thank you! I never drink brandy. Besides, I am quite well again now."

She made as if she would get up to demonstrate this fact, but he stopped her. "Take a little!" he drawled. "Lord Saltash has had the trouble of fetching it."

"I would rather not," she said. "I would much rather not."

"Let her please herself!" said Saltash sharply.

But Jake's hand, steady as rock, was already holding the glass to her lips. She drank as one compelled.

Saltash fidgeted up and down in front of the window in evident dissatisfaction, his ugly face full of lines. "I am infernally sorry this has happened," he said. "You ought to have had the stuff sooner. I wish I had ordered champagne. We'll have some presently. Ah, that'll do, Jake, that'll do! Don't force it on her, for Heaven's sake! Look here, you and I will clear out now, and let her rest in front of the fire. You'd like that, Maud, wouldn't you?"

Maud murmured an affirmative.

"Sure?" said Jake.

She looked up at him. "Yes; but not too near the fire. And-and leave the door open. I want to hear-to know-" Her voice failed, sank into silence.

"All right," Jake said quietly. "I'm not leaving you till it's over."

The calm decision of his speech silenced all protest. Maud attempted none. Saltash shrugged his shoulders and flung round on his heel. Jake bent to offer a steady arm.

She accepted his support in silence. There was that about him that would not brook resistance just then. She was sure that Saltash was aware of it also, for after a very brief pause he began to whistle under his breath and in a very few moments more sauntered from the room.

Jake, very quiet and determined, led her to a settee.

"I won't lie down," she said restlessly. "I want to listen."

Jake was looking round for a chair. Failing to see one, he seated himself by her side. "I reckon this is the most respectable piece of furniture in the place," he observed. "Here is a cushion. Lean back and shut your eyes!"

"I wish you wouldn't wait here," she murmured uneasily.

"I've got to wait somewhere," said Jake.

And then his hand descended upon hers and held it.

She started at his touch, seeking instinctively to free herself, but in the end she yielded, lying back in a tense stillness in which she knew the beating of her heart to be clearly audible.

What was he going to say to her? What had he overheard? What must he think of the agitation she had displayed upon discovering him?

Her breath quivered through her parted lips. The dread of the night before was upon her, but ten times magnified by her present weakness and the thought of that which he might have overheard.

But Jake sat in unbroken silence, his hand holding hers in a steady, purposeful grasp; and gradually, very gradually, her fear began to subside. He could have heard nothing! Surely he could have heard nothing! Surely, if he had, he would have spoken, have questioned-or accused!

A great shiver went through her.

"Cold?" said Jake.

She opened her eyes. "No."

His hand closed more firmly about her own. "Don't be so anxious!" he said. "It'll be all right."

His voice was kind, she tried to smile.

"Was he-was he very nervous?" she asked, finding relief in speech.

"Game all through," said Jake. "Went off like a baby. Say, Maud, he'll be a fine man some day."

"He'll never be mine any more," she said, and turned her face aside.

Jake said nothing. He fell into a musing silence that seemed to stretch and widen to an unknown abyss between them. She closed her eyes, hoping that he would think her sleeping.

He remained absolutely still by her side while the silence lengthened and deepened. She wondered for a while if ha were watching her, wondered if he were actually as free from anxiety on Bunny's account as he appeared, became finally vaguely aware of a curious hushed sense of repose stealing over her tired nerves. She drifted away at last into a state that was not quite slumber, that yet held her trance-like and unaware of time. She knew that Jake was beside her, never wholly forgot his presence, but he had ceased to have a disquieting effect upon her. Somehow he fitted into the atmosphere of peace that surrounded her. She was even dimly glad that he had not left her alone. She was tired, unutterably tired, but her mind had ceased to work at the problems that so vexed her soul; it had become as it were dormant. Even the thought of Bunny did not disturb her any more. Had not Dr. Capper solemnly declared that all would be well?

So she sank into an ever-deepening sea of oblivion, unmindful of the hand that so surely held her own; and so that long, long hour crept by.

When there came at last the opening of a door and the sound of voices she was too far away in her merciful dreamland to hear. She knew in a vague fashion that Jake's hand left hers, even murmured a faint protest, but she did not attempt to rouse herself. She had yielded too completely to the healing magic of rest.

There followed a space during which all consciousness was entirely blotted out and she slept like a weary child, a space that seemed to last interminably, and yet was all too short. Then at length nature or conscience stirred within her, and her brain began to work once more. Out of a vague obscurity of dimly registered impressions the light of understanding began to dawn. She opened heavy eyes upon the red, still fire that burned so steadily, so unfailingly. It put her in mind of something-that hot, silent fire-but she could not remember what it was; something that was vigilant, intense, unquenchable, something that she could never wholly grasp or wholly elude.

She opened her eyes a little wider, and moved her head upon the cushion. Surely she had slept for a long, long time!

And then she caught the sound of a voice that whispered-a low, clear whisper.

"Why don't you take her for a honeymoon, my son? It would do you both all the good in the world."

There was a pause, and then someone-Jake-murmured something unintelligible. Maud raised herself slightly and saw him standing before the fire. His thick-set figure was turned from her. His head leaned somewhat dejectedly against the high mantelpiece.

Capper was standing beside him, lounging against the carved wood in an ungainly attitude, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. At Jake's muttered words he turned and looked at him keenly, with eyes of semi-quizzical sympathy.

"Say, Jake," he said, "the man who walks his horse along a hedge-side never gets there. The hedge has a way of getting higher, moreover, every step he goes. Guess being in love has kind of demoralized you. You'll never win out this way."

Jake moved a little, straightened himself, stood squarely facing the great doctor. "I'm going to win out," he said; and with that very abruptly he wheeled round and came straight to Maud, as though she had called him.

So sudden was his movement that she was taken wholly by surprise. He stooped over her and took her hand before she had time to draw back.

"It's all right, my girl," he said, and she heard a note of reassurance in his voice. "The little chap's come through it finely. There's nothing to be anxious about. Capper says so; and whatever Capper says goes."

"Guess that's so," said Capper. He remained at his post by the fire, a smile of keen satisfaction on his parchment face. "You shall see him presently; not yet, not for another hour, and then only for a few seconds. He's got to be kept as quiet as an infant. But I've done just what I figured to do. In another six weeks he ought to be learning to walk."

"Bunny-walking!" Maud spoke the words as one dazed. The whole of her world seemed suddenly to have changed. It was as if she actually breathed a new atmosphere. She caught her breath, feeling half afraid. "Is it-is it true?" she said.

Capper laughed. "Seems like a miracle, does it? Never met with a miracle before? Yet there's quite a lot of 'em to be seen in this curious old world. Maybe you'll come across some more, now you've started."

He came quietly to her, bent and took her free hand into his. She felt his thin, sensitive fingers press her pulse.

"I'm quite well indeed," she said in a tone of protest. "Please tell me more about Bunny. I want to hear everything."

"My dear lady, you know practically all there is to know," he made answer. "Bunny is going to be one of my proudest successes. But there's just one thing to be arranged, I want to have him under my own eye for a time. It's for his own good, so I know your consent is a foregone conclusion. No, not yet of course. I will give him a month here, and then I want to fetch him up to London and keep him in a Home there belonging to my colleague Sir Kersley Whitton until I am able to discharge him as cured. Will you agree to that?"

His eyes, shrewd and kindly, looked down into hers. His hand still held her wrist. She felt the magic of his personality, and found it hard to resist.

But, "To take him away from me!" she said rather piteously. "Must you take him away?"

Jake had withdrawn a little as if he did not wish to take part in the conversation. Capper sat down beside her.

"Mrs. Bolton," he said, "I guess that young brother of yours is just one of the biggest factors of your existence. Isn't that so? You'd do anything for him, and never count the cost. Well, here's something you can do for him, a mighty big thing too. It'll be a very critical time, and I want to have him under my own eye. I also want to have complete control of him. I'm not hinting that your influence isn't good. I know it is. But, for all that, he'll do better with comparative strangers during that critical time than he would with his own people. I want to lift him entirely out of the old ruts. I want to start him on an entirely new footing, to give him self-reliance, to get him into good, wholesome habits. It'll make all the difference in the world to him or I shouldn't be urging it so strongly. Say, now, you promised me your co-operation, you are not going to refuse?"

She could not refuse. She realized it with a leaden heart. Yet she made one quivering attempt to pierce through the ever-narrowing circle.

"But the cost," she said.

"It won't cost you a single cent," said Capper. "It's just for my private satisfaction that it will be done."

Her last hope faded. She made a little gesture of helplessness. "He is in your hands, Doctor," she said. "I-I am much more grateful to you than I seem."

Capper's hand pressed hers. "You will never regret this sacrifice as long as you live," he said, looking at her with his keen, kindly eyes. "I'm even ready to prophesy that you'll one day reap a very considerable benefit from it."

But Maud's only answer was a dreary little shake of the head.

CHAPTER XXXV

OFFER OF FREEDOM

Slowly the dreary winter days gave place to spring. March came with gusty rain-storms that swept over sea and downs; lashing the waves to fury, blotting the countryside like a torn veil. March went, smiling and wonderful, with a treacherous graciousness that deceived all nature into imagining that the winter was really gone.

At Burchester Castle, Bunny, lying perpetually flat on his back by the doctor's unalterable decree, alternated between fits of bitter complaining and fits of black despair. He suffered more from tedium and weariness than from any definite pain, and Maud found herself fully occupied once more with the care of him. The nurse was thankful to have her at hand, for Bunny was at all times a difficult patient. And to be in attendance upon him was Maud's greatest joy in those days. She watched over him with such a wealth of devotion as she had never displayed before, a devotion at which even the boy himself sometimes marvelled.

Jake came and went, but he was never with him at night. The nurse slept in his room and Maud in the one adjoining. Jake went back to his home to sleep.

He and Maud saw but little of each other. They met daily, but she avoided all intercourse with him so strenuously that only the most ordinary commonplaces ever passed between them.

She saw much more of Saltash, though he was often away. His comings and goings were never known beforehand, and he never intruded himself upon her. Only when she went in the afternoons or evenings to the music-room and, propping the door wide, played and sometimes sang to Bunny, he had a fashion of coming lightly in upon her, dropping as it seemed from nowhere, and lying outstretched upon the settee near her while he smoked his endless cigarettes, and occasionally criticized.

How he entered she never discovered; he was always there before she knew, and he never came in by the door. When she asked him, he would only jest.

"Some day I will show you my secret chamber, ma belle reine. But not yet-not yet."