Anthony Lyveden Part 22

You blot out everything in the world. Whatever I do, or say, or think, you're always there. There's nothing but you, you, you! And you ask if I'm interested!"

A wandering puff of salt air swooped out of the windless sky, ruffled his thick dark hair, and was gone, panting. A gull sailed close to them, circled, dipped and sped seaward with a smooth rush. The league-long shadow of a cloud swept stately over the gleaming woods, driving the sunlight before it, itself driven before the twin of its prey.... The silver wire of silence became more and more tense. Each second gave another turn to the screw. Valerie began to tremble....

"And that," said Lyveden at last, "that's why we can't be friends. I can't be your friend because I love you; and I mustn't love you because----"

"Why?"

"Because it's out of the question," he flashed. "Don't tempt me, Valerie. You know it is. I'm crying for something that's utterly, hopelessly, laughably out of my reach. I haven't the right to the moonlight, and I want--the moon."

He stopped suddenly and dropped his head, ashamed that he had let his pa.s.sion ride him so recklessly, limp after his outburst, sick at heart for the truth of his words.

Valerie sat very still, exultation and anxiety fighting for a grip on her heart. Anthony had told his love, raved of her, called her by name. (Anxiety's claw-like fingers began to yield.) The very intensity of his utterance declared his conviction that he must give her up. The exceeding bitterness of his tone rang too true to be ill-founded. (Exultation's clutch weakened, and Anxiety took a fresh hold.) Of a sudden Valerie felt persuaded that Time could win her battle, could she but gain his aid. As if to establish this persuasion, the reflection that the old fellow had straightened more crookedness than any other minister of love came to her hotfoot, and then and there she made up her mind to court him. She yearned to put her arms about her man's neck, but felt that somehow that way lay ruin.

Anthony being what he was, it was all-important that she should not show him her hand. He had seen--should see a card or two, certainly.

That the rest were the same, card for card, as those he had just flung down, in his present mood he must on no account realize. Such knowledge were fatal. He would, presumably, kiss her, and then call Patch and walk out of her life for ever. So long, however, as he did not believe her lovesick, he would--well, he would not disappear, at any rate. There are who lay hold on hopelessness rather faster than they lay hold on life....

"Anthony, dear," said Valerie, "let's--please don't let go of my hand--let's look for a way out. You know, I think----"

What she would have said should not matter to us. We have peered into her brain-pan. The sentence, however, was never completed, and that for a reason which shall pa.s.s muster.

On perceiving that Valerie and he were moving, Anthony for a moment of time suspected an earthquake. Almost instantaneously he appreciated that, while it affected him pretty closely, it was a much smaller matter--nothing more, in fact, than the giving way of that portion of the cliff upon which the two were disposed. It was typical of the man that he neither swore nor cried out, and of the soldier that he thought and acted simultaneously.... By the mercy of Heaven, he was, as you know, upon one knee. Had he been sitting, like his companion, they must have gone with the avalanche. As it was, they were able, after a painful silence, to hear this crash evilly with a dull roar into the pinewood.

The echoes rumbled curiously into the distance, and a startled medley of cries rose from all manner of birds, which soared out of their shelter, dismayed and whirling. One bird was fairly gibbering. Miss French and Lyveden both noticed it. Valerie found herself wondering whether it had lost its wits.

For the perfection to which their senses focussed these and other very ordinary things, their plight was responsible. It has been said that the faculty of observation is never so p.r.o.nounced as when the observer is face to face with Death. Anthony and the lady were looking him in the eyes. The pair of them was, in fact, hanging in s.p.a.ce, dangling two hundred feet up, with an inch and a half of ash-plant between them and Eternity.

With his right hand Lyveden was grasping the slender trunk of a sapling which grew three feet to an inch from the new edge of the bluff. As he was, arm and all, at full length, it follows that from the breast-bone downwards the whole of him was over the cliff. Valerie was altogether in mid-air. She was directly suspended, with her back flat against Anthony, by the latter's left arm, which if he had released she would have fallen plumb into the pinewood....

In a quiet voice Lyveden was speaking.

"Try and free your right arm."

Providentially, the girl's elbow was on a level with the edge, and at the expense of a torn sleeve she was able to work the arm free and on to the heather. This, when pulled, came away in her hand. Her fingers scratched upon the gravel frantically. No handfast was there. After a moment they abandoned the search.

"Now the other arm."

This was pinioned by her supporter's. By dint, however, of almost dislocating her shoulder, she managed to disengage it.

Again she waited for instructions.

None came, however, for Anthony could not think what to do. She could not turn, and he could not turn her. Neither could he haul them both up. He had not the strength. As it was, the strain upon his two arms was frightful--too frightful to last.... If she could have held herself for five seconds, he could have dragged himself up and the girl after him; but she could get no shadow of hold upon the ground. And all the time his arms were tiring--both of them--tiring rapidly....

The muscles under his arm-pits were aching unbearably, and there was a queer tingling in his right wrist.

As he looked at this, he saw how it was quivering. His left arm was quivering, too. He could feel it. He realized with a shock that this was a movement over which he had no control. Nature, apparently, was rebelling against his will.... And his fingers, crooked about the trunk of the sapling, were getting hot--making the bark greasy....

Convulsively he sought foothold for the thirtieth time, but, except for tweaking the agony in his chest, the effort was vain. Desperately he blinked the sweat out of his eyes....

Patch appeared upon the scene, snuffing the ground casually enough.

His surprise to see his master in so strange an att.i.tude was unmistakable. After a moment's reflection he decided that the position was that required by the rules of a new game in which he was intended to partic.i.p.ate. He therefore made ready to play, and, lowering his head to his paws, put up his nose and barked joyously.

"Come here, Patch," said Anthony.

The tone was not that of the playground, and the terrier obeyed mechanically--circ.u.mspectly, too, though, for he disliked heights.

Anthony addressed his companion.

"When he's near enough, take hold of his collar. Hang on like grim death. Listen! My arm's giving out. I'm going to let you go while I pull myself up. It's the only chance. You're light, and he'll stick his toes in. Put a strain on him now, so that he's ready."

"I shall pull him over," said Valerie.

"No, you won't, dear. Do as I say. Quick!"

He almost screamed the last word.

The moment he felt the strain, the terrier resisted wildly. Planting his forefeet against the heather-roots, he refused with all the instinctive terror of the dumb animal, straining every muscle of his little thick-set frame to avoid a closer acquaintance with that horrible brink....

Very gently Anthony lowered his companion till her arm was resting upon the turf and the edge of the cliff was in her arm-pit. Then--

"Only a second, sweet," he said quietly, and let her go....

With a frightful heave he was on his stomach ... on his thighs ... his knees ... feet. He turned, staggering.

His back hunched like a cat's, Patch was sliding forward.

In a flash Lyveden had stooped, caught Valerie's arm with both hands, dug in his heels and flung himself backward....

The three landed in a heap anyhow.

The moment he was at length detached from Valerie, Patch retired a good score of paces from the edge of the bluff. He had had enough of cliffs for the rest of his life. His master's interpretation of games was usually brilliant. This last was an exception. He could see nothing in it.

Betty Alison laid her hand orderly upon the green baize, with the complacent air of the player who is presenting his or her partner with all the essential factors of Grand Slam.

After staring fixedly at the display, her husband put his cards face downwards upon the table and covered his eyes.

"I suppose," he said brokenly, "I suppose you had a reason for overbidding me. I confess I can't see it, but I expect that's because it's too subtle."

"What d'you mean?" was the indignant reply. "Look at those"--and Betty pointed proudly to a queen-high flush of six diamonds.

"But you called hearts!"

Betty started. Then--

"So I did," she said guiltily. "I meant diamonds."

"I see," said her husband grimly. "After all, they're both red, aren't they?"

Here the laughter which Anne and Anthony had been endeavouring to restrain broke out tempestuously. Betty's procedure and bearing at the Bridge table would have unhinged an enthusiast, but since the four domestics played for amus.e.m.e.nt and a penny a hundred her short-comings hurt n.o.body and were highly diverting.