The Hundredth Chance

It was while he was speaking thus that the lights in the body of the church went down and the red flame before the altar shone clear and unchanging in the gloom. Maud's eyes were drawn instantly to it, became riveted upon it. She sat with bated breath, almost as one who watched a miracle. And by some strange telepathy the man in the pulpit became aware of it also. He turned towards it.

"Look at that light!" he said. "It is kept burning perpetually, the symbol of undying worship, undying Love. Everyone may keep such a light as that burning always. The spark is ours for the kindling. It may be placed before the Altar of an Unknown God. But none the less is it offered to His Glory and immortal. It is not faith or hope that the soul needs above all things. It is Love, the power to love, and the power to create love-the will to offer love perpetually before the Altar of Love. It is only love that counts in the long run, only love that survives. There may be a thousand other things around us when we die, good and evil, but the only thing we shall carry with us beyond is that lamp that we have always kept burning before the altar and never suffered to go out. It is no easy thing to keep it always burning in this world of many failures. It is bound to flicker sometimes, even to die down; but while we live, the power to revive it is still ours, the power to worship God with love." He paused a moment, turned slowly back to face the dim nave, and then very quietly he gave utterance to words that Maud was never to forget. "We all want Love, hunger for it, starve for it. Our lives are mere ash-heaps without it. But do we all realize that love is only gained by love, that we must pour out all we have to win it, that we must purge our hearts of all selfish desire, sanctify ourselves by self-sacrifice, by the complete renunciation of self, before the perfect gift can be ours? Love is a joyful sacrifice. There are people whom everyone loves. They are the people who realize what Love means, who give and give, without measure, not counting the cost, rejoicing only in the power to give, till it all comes back to them a thousandfold. It is then that the ploughman overtakes the reaper, for ploughman and reaper are one."

When Maud lay down that night, those words were still running in her mind. That unstinted giving, that measureless pouring out, that utter sacrifice, were these indeed the means by which the desert could be made to blossom-even for her?

She slept sooner than usual, but the echoes of that quiet voice still followed her down through the deeps of slumber, till she dreamed that she was back before that shining altar of flowers. And a radiance that was not of earth was all about her-a radiance unimaginable that was warmth as well as light; and looking up she saw that it came from the red lamp above her-the symbol of undying Love.

As in a trance she waited, for the wonder of the thing held her spellbound. And while she waited, she became aware of someone else in the holy place, someone who moved stealthily, as if half-afraid. And turning, by the light of that revealing glow, she saw her husband with that look of silent misery in his eyes.

It pierced her then as it had not pierced her before. She was conscious of an almost fierce impulse to comfort, an impulse that urged her to him, banishing all hesitation, all doubt. She went near to him, she gave him both her hands. And even as she did so, the look in his eyes changed. She saw a deep, still fire come into them. It seemed to be reflected from the red lamp above. He moved forward with her into the glow.

And suddenly her own eyes were opened and she knew that he loved her-he loved her…

Then she awoke with a palpitating heart and realized that it was a dream.

CHAPTER XIV

THE OPEN DOOR

Not till she had been in her uncle's house for close upon four weeks did Maud brace herself to speak to him of her mother. She had been on the verge of doing so many times, but always, in his bluff fashion, he had managed to convey to her that the subject was not to be broached.

But for an urgent letter from Mrs. Sheppard herself, she would scarcely have summoned the courage to break through what was almost a prohibition, for Uncle Edward was not an easy man to resist; and even as she did so, she knew with absolute conviction that her effort was foredoomed to failure. She scarcely knew how to make it, so uncompromising was the old man's attitude, and when at last it was made, when in desperation she forced herself to tell him of her mother's pitiable plight, she regretted it almost immediately so curtly was her information received. She saw that Uncle Edward was really angry though he said but little. She also saw that what she said on her mother's behalf made not the smallest impression upon his will. He heard her out indeed, but so grimly that at length, feeling that she was presenting the matter quite inadequately in face of his total lack of sympathy, she gave him her mother's hysterical appeal to read.

He shook his head at first, but finally, as she pressed it upon him almost tearfully, he took and read the letter. Then, while anxiously she watched him, he tore it across and across and flung it back to her over the table.

"Pshaw!" he said. "The woman's a hypocrite-a confounded impostor. I know her. You don't. Leave her alone, and let her sink!"

And with that he stumped angrily from the room with beetling brows and fiery eyes.

Maud sat very still after his departure. She had known in her heart that it was hopeless to appeal to him, but now that the appeal had failed she was utterly nonplussed. There was no doubt in her mind that matters were desperate. Her mother had made her realize that, and she felt she could not write and tell her that she could do nothing. Slight as was the bond of sympathy between them, still were they mother and daughter, and she could not fling her off as Uncle Edward recommended. In a fashion the old man's anger reacted in her mother's favour; for she was conscious of indignation on her behalf. Whatever Mrs. Sheppard's faults might be-and it was quite possible that insincerity was among them-he had no right to abuse her to her daughter. It aroused her own anger, and it aroused also that protective instinct which was never very far below the surface with her. When she rose at length, her face was very pale and determined. She had not wanted to write to Charlie, but it seemed that she had no choice.

It was a still, warm afternoon in October. She went into the drawing-room, a stiff apartment upholstered in gold brocade, and sat down at a writing-table in a window-recess to write.

It was the most difficult letter she had ever composed, and yet she had never experienced the smallest difficulty in writing to him before. She could not express herself freely. Words would not come. She desired to avoid all reference to what had passed between them on that night of witchery on which they had last met. She wanted to blot it out of her mind and heart, to address him, to regard him, as only a friend. Ever since that Sunday evening, now nearly a week ago, she had kept her thoughts rigidly from straying in his direction. Had it been possible she would have put him altogether out of her life. It was not possible, and she knew it. But it was with the greatest reluctance that she set herself to write to him, and her reluctance displayed itself in every sentence.

She sat over that letter for the greater part of the afternoon, and when it was finished at last she felt utterly dissatisfied with it. She had an urgent desire to tear it up. But she could not face the writing of another. With a weary sigh she closed and stamped the envelope.

It was then that there fell a step outside the drawing-room door, and Uncle Edward's discreet, elderly maidservant peeped in.

Maud turned in her chair. "What is it, Martha?"

Martha was about to explain, but broke off with a gasp and drew back. There was a muttered word in the doorway, and the next moment Martha had disappeared, and a man's figure stood in the opening.

"Hullo!" said Charlie, with a smile of gay effrontery. "May I come in?"

Maud sat for a second or two as one in a trance and stared at him. It was as if the afternoon's labour had suddenly taken concrete form.

He did not wait for her greeting, but came lightly forward with hands outstretched. "Ah, queen of the roses," he said, "what a peculiarly unbecoming setting you have chosen for yourself! Why-why-what is that? A letter to me? How many times a day do you write them?"

With a lithe, elastic movement, he drew her to her feet, held her a moment, looking at her, then bent his smiling, swarthy face to hers.

"Greeting, queen of the roses!" he said.

She awoke then, came out of her trance, drew swiftly back from him. "Oh, Charlie, is it-is it really you?" she said rather incoherently. "You-how you startled me!"

He let her go, as always, at her desire, but with a faint, monkeyish grimace of disapproval. "You were always easily shocked," he said. "But on this occasion I assure you there is no need. I found myself in the neighbourhood, and thought it would be the correct thing to pay you a morning call."

His queer eyes mocked her openly as he made the explanation. She felt discomfited, painfully embarrassed, and withal conscious of an almost desperate longing to tell him to go.

But she knew she could not do that. Too much hung in the balance.

"Sit down!" she said, mustering her dignity with an immense effort. "And I will tell you why I have been writing to you."

"Wouldn't it save trouble to show me the letter?" he suggested, with easy audacity. "Or have you decided-now that you have had a further opportunity of considering my personal charms-that you really can't?"

She flushed at the implied suggestion. "You can read the letter if you like," she said somewhat stiffly. "It is on business."

She held it out to him, and he sank upon one knee to receive it.

"Merci, ma belle reine! Do you wish me to read it in your august presence?"

"Please!" she said.

He sat facing her, and read it.

She watched his mobile brows as his eyes travelled over the page. She saw amusement turn to humour and humour to merriment on his face. When he looked up at her at length he was laughing.

"You write as a serf appealing to a feudal lord," he said. "Did you mean to write like that?"

She shook her head at him gravely. "It is not a laughing matter," she said.

"What I am laughing at is," he rejoined, still smiling with a hint of derision. "By the way, have you heard from our worthy cow-puncher lately?"

She flinched sharply, before she was aware. Her whole body tingled with a sudden, burning blush.

And Saltash laughed again wickedly. "I saw him yesterday. He was in a fiendish temper for some reason or other. Naturally I asked after you, when he was expecting you back. What do you think he said?"

"What?" Maud breathed the word through lips that panted. Her heart was beating violently she knew not why.

Saltash's dark face seemed to exult over her agitation. "He said, – you know his soft, drawly way-'I guess I shall go-shortly-and fetch her back, my lord.' I wondered if you were aware of his amiable intention. There was the most deadly air of determination about him. I thought you might like to know."

Maud's face was no longer burning; she was white to the lips. But she turned from the subject with composure. "How did you know where to find me?"

He laughed teasingly. "You are curiously curious, Maud of the roses. Don't you yet realize that I always know everything? For instance, I know exactly why you are treating me to this wet-blanket reception. But you would be angry if I told you; so I won't. I also know-" he paused suddenly. "Shall I say it? No, perhaps I had better not."

She smiled faintly. "Perhaps it is beside the point, Charlie. Do you mind coming back to the subject of that letter? It is that that is troubling me now more than anything else."

"Really?" he said. "But why should you be troubled? It wouldn't trouble me to see my arch-enemy in dire straits."

"It is my mother I am anxious about," she said. "If Giles Sheppard goes under, she will go too."

Saltash raised his brows in amused interrogation. "Oh, does that follow? I should abandon the sinking ship if I were Mrs. Sheppard. She has nothing to gain by sticking to it."

Maud received the remark in silence. He leaned forward, his dark face still smiling.

"Do you know I love you for that?" he said. "Chère reine des fleurs, lady of the golden silences! Do you ever say what you really think?"

She shook her head. "Charlie, I am learning-very slowly-a hard lesson. Don't-please-make it any harder for me!"

"What?" he said. "You are really going back to him?"

She put up a hand to her face, almost as if she would hide it from him. "I don't know-yet-what I shall do. But I do know that it would be wrong not to go back."

"Mais vraiment!" he protested. "Is life so simple as that? How do you arrive at that conclusion? Do you follow always the easy path of virtue?"

She looked at him quickly. "It is not easy!" she said.

He lifted his shoulders. "No? But it is-safe at least. And you do not possess the adventurous soul. You like to be-safe, ma belle, even at the sacrifice of your very heart. Do you remember that night of moonshine? But of course you do. Do you know that I prowled in the garden half the night for your sake-just in case you should deem it worth while to be true to that poor heart of yours? You went through a good deal that night, my Maud." His voice changed subtly; the half-scoffing note went out of it, a faint warmth of pity took its place. "And yet you endured it all in silence. Why didn't you break free and come to me? You knew-and so did he-that I was waiting, – or you might have known."

Maud's head was bent; she did not attempt to answer him.

He got up abruptly and came to her. "Good-bye, Maud of the roses!"

She started slightly. "You are going?"

"Yes, I am going. I have received my discharge. My faithful service is at end-unless-or may I say until? – that message comes to call me back." He bent towards her. "Even I cannot wait for ever." he said. "Do you know I stood by the orchard-gate in the rain for two hours on the day of the races? You had a visitor, and so I would not intrude upon you. But you, chère reine, – you knew I was going to be there. And yet you never came."

She raised her head sharply, moved by something in his tone. "But how could I? How could I?" she said. "Besides, – Jake knew."

He laughed. "Yes, Jake knew. He saw me that night of moonshine. He nearly challenged me. And then he changed his mind and passed on. I conclude it didn't suit him to quarrel with me. But what of that? He was bound to know some day."

She clasped her hands tightly together. "If he knew all-he would shoot you," she said, with a sudden hard shudder.

But Saltash only laughed again, and touched a wisp of her hair. "Oh, I don't think so, queen of the roses. I think he would have pity on my innocence-if he knew all. But that isn't the point, you know. The point is that you choose bondage with him rather than freedom with me. And that being so, I can only bow to your ruling. Once more-good-bye!"

She parted her hands with an effort, and gave him one of them. "What about-my mother, Charlie?" she said.

He pressed her fingers lightly. "I commend her to the kind care of her worthy son-in-law."

She raised her eyes to his almost incredulously. "You are going to-to let them be ruined?"

He smiled at her, flashing his strange eyes. "It wouldn't do for you to be under an obligation-a personal obligation-to me, would it? Jake-you know-Jake might object."

She rose quickly and stood facing him. "Charlie, please don't jest!" she urged him, her voice low and very earnest.

His smile became a grimace. "It rests with you," he said, "whether I jest my way to the devil or whether I live a godly, righteous and sober life for evermore. If it is to be the latter, then I am quite prepared to fulfil my virtuous devoirs to my prospective mother-in-law. But if the former is to be my portion-well, I don't think even St. Peter himself would have saddled himself with anyone else's. That is the position, chère reine. Tu comprends maintenant?"

Yes, she understood. There was nothing complex in the situation. She stood looking at him her hand still in his.

"Then I cannot look upon you as-a friend?" she said at last, almost under her breath.

He smiled upon her-a sudden, baffling smile. "But ask yourself that question, Maud of the roses!" he said. "You will find the answer there in your own heart, if you seek for it."

She quivered at the words, feeling the subtle attraction of the man even against her will.

"You have refused to help me," she said.

He bent towards her, his dark face glowing. "I offer you-all I have," he said. "It is your own, to do with as you will. But you must take all or leave all. Maud, Maud," his speech quickened to sudden vehemence, "you love me! Why do you cling to your prison when the door is standing wide? Now is your time to escape, if ever. I will take all your cares-all your burdens. You shall be free as air. Only-now that the door is open-come!"

"Yes. I should shut the door another time if I were you," a gruff voice commented behind them. "It's a rash thing, young man, to leave the door open when you're talking confidences. What are you doing in this house, I wonder? Did you come in at the door?"

Both Maud and Saltash had faced round at the first sentence, she with a sharp exclamation, he with a laugh.

Uncle Edward, his eyes very bright under the beetling brows, stumped up to them with the air of an old watchdog investigating the presence of a suspicious stranger. He rasped his throat ferociously as he came.

"Who may you be?" he demanded.

"I?" Saltash was laughing still, facing the situation with his hands in his pockets, the soul of careless effrontery. "I don't suppose you have ever heard my name before. I am Saltash."

"Who?" Uncle Edward turned for explanation towards his niece.

"Lord Saltash," she said, in a low voice.

"Oh! Lord Saltash!" The old man turned back to him with a sound like a snarl. "Yes, I have heard of you before. You were co-respondent in the Cressady divorce case a few years back."

Saltash laughed again with easy nonchalance. "You have a good memory, sir. If it serves you as it should, you will also recall the fact that the case was dismissed."

"I remember-all the facts," said Uncle Edward, with ominous deliberation, "And as it is not my custom to admit men of your stamp into my house, you will oblige me by quitting it without delay."

Saltash turned to Maud. "I am sorry you have been caught in such bad company," he said. "Pray explain that I came uninvited! I shall be at Burchester for the present. When you come back, you and your husband must come and dine. Good-bye!"

With the unabashed smile still on his ugly face, he turned to go, moving with the easy arrogance of the ruling race, royally incapable of discomfiture.

Uncle Edward followed him to the door, and grimly watched his exit. Then still more grimly he came tramping back. "And now to pick a bone with you, my niece!" he said.

CHAPTER XV

THE DOWNWARD PATH

She stood erect, facing him. Her face was very pale, but her eyes were quite unflinching. There was about her a majesty of demeanour that might have deterred a less determined man than Uncle Edward. But he stood upon his own ground and grappled with the situation quite undismayed. He was moreover very angry.

"You young hussy!" he said, bringing out his words with immense emphasis. "How dare you have your lover here? Thought you were safe, eh? Thought I shouldn't know? Oh, you're like the rest of 'em, crafty as an eel. What's the meaning of it, eh? What have you got to say for yourself?"

She did not attempt to answer him. Where her mother would have been loud in self-justification, she uttered not a word. Only, after a moment or two, she turned slowly and sat down at the writing-table, leaning her chin on her hand as one spent. Even so, there was an aloofness in her attitude that conveyed to the wrathful old man beside her an unpleasant sense of being at a disadvantage.

He stood looking down at her, grievously resentful, striving to select a weapon sharp enough to pierce her calm.

"I thought you were to be trusted," he said. "Goodness knows why! You didn't seem to have any leaven of your mother about you. But I see now I was wrong. You are just your mother over again. But if you think you are going to pursue an intrigue with that aristocratic blackguard in my house, you're very much mistaken. No doubt I'm very old-fashioned and strait-laced. But there it is. I object. I object strongly. The man's a liar and a thief and a scoundrel. Don't you know it, eh? Haven't you found him out yet?"

He stopped so pointedly for an answer that she could not maintain her silence longer. She moved a little, turned her head slightly, without raising her eyes, and spoke.

"I know him very well. But-forgive me, Uncle Edward! – I can't discuss him with you. I-I am sorry you thought it necessary to insult him."

"Insult him!" Uncle Edward's anger boiled afresh. "Didn't I catch the hound making love to you? Here in my house where I have lived decently and respectably for over fifty years! Didn't I catch him, I say-he a well-known profligate and you a married woman? Didn't I actually hear him trying to tempt you from your husband and your duty? And you were calmly permitting it. Look here, young woman! I've been too kind to you. That's the fact of the matter. You've had too much liberty, too much indulgence, too much of your own way. You married in a hurry against my judgment. But-by heaven-since you are married, you shall stick to your bargain! You take a pen now-do you hear? – and a sheet of paper, and write to your husband this minute, and ask him to come and join you here! I won't be surety for you any longer. Tell him to come to-morrow!"

But Maud only stiffened as she sat making no movement to comply. She looked like a marble statue of Despair.

Uncle Edward came a little nearer to her. He was not accustomed to being set at nought. Most people regarded him as formidable even when he was in a comparatively genial mood.

"Are you going to do as I tell you?" he said.

She glanced up at him momentarily. "I think," she said, "we will wait till to-morrow."

He stamped a furious foot. "Will we, indeed, madam! Well, you may wait as long as you please; but I tell you this: If you don't write that letter-instantly, I shall go straight to the post-office found the corner and send your husband a telegram to summon him at once. He will be here by the morning, if I know him. And then I shall tell him exactly why I sent for him. So now you can take your choice. Which is it to be?"

He had moved her at last. Maud rose to her feet with a suddenness that was almost suggestive of panic. "You would never do such a thing!" she said. "You could not be so-so wickedly cruel!"

He snapped his jaws like an angry terrier. "Oh, that would be wicked, would it? You have some odd ideas of morals; that's all I can say. But wicked or cruel, it's what I mean to do. So take your choice, and be quick about it! For I shan't go back on what I've said. When a woman starts on the downward path, she usually takes it at a run; and I won't be responsible. So which is it to be? Your letter or my telegram? Make up your mind! Which?"

His manner was almost menacing. She stood facing with an awful sense of impotence growing at her heart. To summon Jake herself was a proceeding that she could not for a moment contemplate, but the bare thought of Uncle Edward's alternative pierced like a poisoned knife. She felt again that dreadful trapped feeling of former days. The liberty she had enjoyed of late made it all the more terrible.

"I can't decide anything just now," she said at last, and she knew that her voice trembled painfully. "Please-please let us wait a little! There is really no need to send for Jake. Lord Saltash has gone, and he will not come back."

"Don't tell me!" said Uncle Edward truculently. "Even if he doesn't, how am I to be sure that you won't take it into your head to go to him? No, my niece, I've heard too much. Why, he'd have had his arm round you in another second. I know-I saw. If I'd waited another three seconds, he'd have been kissing you. And not for the first time, I'll be bound."