Captain Desmond, V.C. Part 49

She bent down and kissed his hand; then rose and slipped silently back into her own room.

Theo Desmond lay motionless, like a man stunned. This third blow, dealt him in quick succession, left him broken in heart and spirit, as he had never been broken in all his days.

It is written that a man must be defeated in order to succeed; and in that moment Desmond bit the dust of the heart's most poignant tragedy and defeat--the shattering of faith in one who is very near to us. Nor was it the shattering of faith alone. The shock of his wife's unwitting revelation, coming when he stood supremely in need of her loyalty and tenderness, struck a mortal blow at his love for her; though in his present state he was not capable of recognising the truth. He only knew that, for the first time in his life, he felt unutterably alone--alone in a dimness which might deepen to permanent darkness; and that the wholesome vigorous realities of life seemed to have slipped for ever out of reach. He only knew that his wife would have turned her back upon him in his hour of extremity--openly disgracing herself and him--but for the intervention of Honor Meredith.

Her mere name called up a vivid vision of her beauty, a remembrance of the infinite compa.s.sion in her voice when she had knelt beside him, soothing and strengthening him by some miracle of womanly intuition, urging him to make allowance for his wife's distress.

A sudden glow thrilled through him from head to foot. He stirred slightly; and tried, without success, to turn in his chair. It was as if the compelling spirit of her had dragged him back from the brink of nothingness to renewed life, to the a.s.surance that in his utmost loneliness he was not--nor ever would be--alone. And, in that moment of awakening, the voice of sympathy came to him--tender, uplifting, clear as speech.

Honor Meredith had begun to play.

By way of prelude she chose a piece of pure organ music--the exquisitely simple Largo of the Second Sonata. From that she pa.s.sed on to the Pastoral itself, opening it, as of custom, with the fine Andante movement--the presage of coming storm.

None among all that wondrous thirty-two is so saturate with open-air cheerfulness and vigour as this Sonata, aptly christened the Pastoral.

Here we are made accomplices of Nature's moods, and set in the midst of her voices. Here, in swift succession, are storm and sunshine; falling rain-drops; the plash and ripple of mountain streams; bird notes of rare verisimilitude, from the anxious twitterings before the thunder-shower, to the chorus of thanksgiving after it has swept vigorously past. And Theo Desmond, lying in semi-darkness, with pain for his sole comrade, knew that the hand of healing had been again outstretched to him,--not all in vain.

The Sonata ended in a brisk ripple of sound; and for a while Honor sat motionless, her shapely hands resting on the keyboard as if awaiting further inspiration.

Desmond moved again uneasily. He wondered what her unfailing intuition of his need would lead her to play next; and even as he wondered, expectancy was lulled into a great rest by the measured tranquillity of Beethoven's most stately and divine Adagio--the Moonlight Sonata.

There are some people who get deeper into a piano than others, who breathe a living soul into the trembling wires. The magic of Honor's music lay in this capacity; and she exerted it now to the limit of her power.

The Moonlight Sonata is c.u.mulative from start to finish, pa.s.sing from the exalted calm of the Adagio, through the graciousness of the Allegretto, to that inspired and inspiring torrent of harmony the Presto Agitato. Its incomparable effect of the rush and murmur of many waters, through which the still small voice of melody rings clear as a song dropped straight from heaven, leaves little room in a listener's soul for the jangling discords of earth. Into that movement the great deaf musician seems to have flung the essence of his impatient spirit;--that rare mingling of ruggedness and simplicity, of purity and pa.s.sionate power, which went to make up the remarkable character of the man, and which sets Beethoven's music apart from the music of his compeers. Wagner, Chopin, Grieg,--these range the whole gamut of emotion for its own sake. But in the hands of the master it becomes what it should be--the great uplifting lever of the world.

The listener in the darkened room drew a long breath, and clenched his teeth so forcibly that a spasm of pain pa.s.sed, like a fused wire, through the wound in his cheek. But the keener stress of mind and heart dulled his senses to the pin-p.r.i.c.k of the flesh. For in the brief s.p.a.ce of time since the music began, Theo Desmond--the soldier of proven courage and self-forgetfulness--had fought the most momentous battle of his life;--a battle in which was no flourish of trumpets, no clash of arms, no medal or honour for the winning.

But the price of conquest had still to be paid. There were still practical issues to be faced, and he faced them with the straightforward simplicity that was his. He saw as in a lightning-flash, the hidden meaning of this girl's power to stimulate and satisfy him; saw the unnameable danger ahead; and in the same breath decided that Honor must go. There must be no risk of disloyalty to Evelyn, were it only in thought.

He could not as yet see how he was to retract his request for her presence. His stunned brain refused to cope with such hara.s.sing details. The thing must be said; and no doubt he would find strength to say it aright. For him that was enough; and he deliberately turned his back on the subject.

The Presto was drawing to a close now in a cascade of single notes, as stirring to the ear as the downrush of a waterfall to the eye; and during the silence that followed upon the last crashing chords, the bitter thought came to him that Honor's departure would mean not only the loss of her comradeship, but of the music, which had again become one of the first necessities of his life.

With a sensation altogether strange to him, since it had in it an element of fear, he heard her shut the piano and come towards the door of his room. Closing his eyes, he lay very still, in the hope that she might believe him to be asleep. Ordinary speech with her seemed an impossibility just then.

He felt her come in, and pause beside his chair. His stillness clearly deceived her, for she said nothing; neither did she move away, as he had devoutly hoped she would do.

Remembering that his eyes were hidden, he opened them; and was rewarded by the sight of her cream-coloured skirt, and her hands hanging loosely clasped upon it. An intolerable longing came upon him to push off the shade; to satisfy himself with one glimpse of her face before banishing it out of his life. But strength was given him to resist, and to realise his own cowardice in deceiving her thus.

Then, because he was incapable of doing anything by halves, he made a slight movement and put out his hand.

"Thank you," he said simply. "You have heartened me more than I can say."

"I am so glad," she answered in a low tone, allowing her hand to rest for a mere instant in his. "Now I want you to shut all trouble out of your mind, and go to sleep for a long time. Will you?"

At that the corners of his mouth went down.

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid. But it's sound advice; and I'll do my best to act upon it."

"In that case--you are bound to succeed."

And, without waiting for his possible answer, she slipped quietly out of the room.

CHAPTER XXVI.

STAND TO YOUR GUNS.

"It is so that a woman loves who is worthy of heroes."

--R. L. S.

Wyndham, returning to the bungalow soon after ten o'clock, found it readjusted to its new conditions. Frank Olliver had returned to her empty home; and Desmond, at his own request, had had his camp-bed made up in the study, that he might in no way disturb his wife. She herself had retired early, without going in to him again. Honor noted and wondered at the omission; but since Evelyn had said nothing about her short interview with Theo, she forbore to question her or press her unduly at the start.

When Paul arrived Desmond was sound asleep, wearied out with pain of body and mind; while Honor moved noiselessly to and fro, setting in readiness all that might be wanted before morning. Paul came armed with Mackay's permission to remain on duty for the night, taking what little rest he required on the drawing-room sofa, and Honor could not withhold a smile at his satisfaction.

"I believe you're jealous!" she said. "You want to oust me, and have him all to yourself!"

"You are right," he answered frankly; and going over to the bed, stood looking upon his friend in an unspeakable content, that even anxiety was powerless to annul.

For all that, it was late before Honor managed to leave her patient, and slip away into the bare room where Harry Denvil lay awaiting the dawn.

Save for the long scar across his face, no suggestion of that last desperate fight was visible; and in the presence of the Great Silence, her own turmoil of heart and brain was stilled as at the touch of a rea.s.suring hand. She knelt a long while beside the Boy. It pleased her to believe that he was in some way aware of her companionship; that perhaps he was even glad of it--glad that she should feel no lightest shrinking from the temple that had enshrined the brave jewel of his soul.

Arrived in her own room, she found Parb.u.t.ti huddled on the ground, in a state of damp and voluble distress. She could not bring herself to dismiss the old woman at once; though her heart cried out for solitude, and weariness seemed suddenly to dissolve her very bones.

She saw now that her love had deepened and strengthened during Desmond's absence, as great love is apt to do; and the shock of his return, coupled with the scant possibility of her own escape, had tried her fort.i.tude more severely than she knew.

She submitted in silence to the exchanging of her tea-gown for a white wrapper, and to the loosening of her hair, Parb.u.t.ti crooning over her ceaselessly the while.

"Now I will soothe your Honour's head till weariness be forgotten, O my Miss Sahib, daughter of my heart! Sleep without dreams, my life; and have no fear for the Captain Sahib, who is surely favoured of the G.o.ds by reason of his great courage."

While her tongue ran on, the wrinkled hands moved skilfully over the girl's head and neck, fingering each separate nerve, and stilling the throbbing pulses by that mystery of touch, which we of the West are just beginning to acquire, but which is a common heritage in the East.

"Go now, Parb.u.t.ti," Honor commanded at length. "Thy fingers be miracle-workers. It is enough."

And as Parb.u.t.ti departed, praising the G.o.ds, Honor leaned her chin upon her hands, and frankly confronted the decision that must be arrived at before morning.

To her inner consciousness it seemed wrong and impossible to fulfil her promise and remain; while to all outward appearance it seemed equally wrong and impossible to go. She could not see clearly. She could only feel intensely; and her paramount feeling at the moment was that G.o.d asked of her more than human nature could achieve.

The man's weakness and dependence awakened in her the strongest, the divinest element of a woman's love, and with it the longing to uphold and help him to the utmost limit of her power. It was this intensity of longing which convinced her that, at all costs, she must go. Yet at the first thought of Evelyn her invincible arguments fell back like a defeated battalion.

If she had sought the Frontier in the hope of coming into touch with life's stern realities, her hope had been terribly fulfilled.

"Dear G.o.d, what _ought_ I to do?" she murmured on a note of pa.s.sionate appeal. But no answer came out of the stillness; and sheer human need was too strong upon her for prayer.

Rising impulsively, she went over to the wide-flung door that led into the back verandah, and rolled up the "chick," flooding the room with light; for a full moon rode high in the heavens, eclipsing the fire of the stars. She stepped out into the verandah, and pa.s.sed to the far end, that looked across a strip of rocky desolation to the hills.