Captain Desmond, V.C. Part 62

"Don't thank me at all," she said. "I don't want your thanks. I don't--deserve them. Take care of that envelope; it is worth more than two hundred rupees to you--and to me. Now go!"

And taking her by the shoulders, she put her gently outside the door.

Then, drawing a deep breath of relief, stood alone with the realisation of all that had pa.s.sed.

It seemed that she was not to be spared one drop of the cup of bitterness; that to her had been a.s.signed the task of Sisyphus, the ceaseless rolling upward of a stone that as ceaselessly rolled down; the continual re-establishment of Evelyn in the shrine of her husband's heart. And there would be no end to it, even after John's return. So long as these two had need of her, heart and brain and hands would be at their service. She did not definitely think this, because true heroism is unaware of itself. "It feels, and never reasons; and therefore is always right."

Honor was aware of nothing just then, but the keen pang of self-reproach. "G.o.d forgive me!" she murmured, forming the words with her lips. "I did it for _him_."

Then she started, and the blood flew to her face. For Desmond's voice, imperious, entreating, rang clear through the quiet of the house.

"Ladybird, where _are_ you? Come back!"

And without a thought of what she intended to say, Honor went out to the completion of her day's work. That was her practical way of looking at the matter.

"It will be easy enough," she reflected as she went. The entreaty in Desmond's voice a.s.sured her of that.

But in the drawing-room doorway she stood still, extraordinarily still. For Desmond himself confronted her; and she had not antic.i.p.ated the ordeal of a face-to-face encounter.

Involuntarily, inevitably, their eyes met, and lingered in each other's depths. It was their first real greeting since his return; and they felt it as such. It was the first time also that Desmond had seen her completely since his lightning-flash of self-knowledge; and in the same instant the same thought sprang to both their minds--that, in the past three weeks, the detested shade had served them better than they knew.

For a full minute it seemed as if these two, whose courage was above proof, did not dare risk movement or speech. But it was no more than a minute. Each was incapable of suspecting the other's hidden fear; and now, as always, Evelyn was the foremost thought in the minds of both.

Desmond broke the spell by one step forward.

"I want Ladybird," he said abruptly. "Where is she?"

"I'm sorry. She has just gone out; but she won't be long."

Honor knew what must come next; knew also that she could neither lie to him nor tell him the truth.

"What possessed her to go out again? Do you know where she went?"

"Yes, Theo, I do know," she answered, coming into the room, and speaking with a n.o.ble directness that was like a light thrown across tortuous ways. "It was unavoidable. I would rather not say any more.

You can trust me, can't you?"

"As I trust G.o.d and my own soul," he replied with profound conviction.

"Did she seem--much upset?"

"Yes,--terribly upset. Not without reason. She told me everything. May I speak of it, Theo? You won't think me--intrusive?"

He gave her a quick, reproachful glance.

"_You?_ Say what you please. I was a brute to her; and I know it. But I swear I wasn't hard on her till she refused to break with Kresney.

Did she give you any sort of reason for that?"

"Yes; and I have quite cleared up the difficulty; though I'm afraid you mustn't ask me how."

"You seem hedged about with mysteries this evening," he remarked, a trifle curtly. "I confess I like daylight, and straight roads."

"Not more than I do, Theo. But you have said you can trust me; and at least I can a.s.sure you that there was no question of personal reluctance. Whatever Evelyn's failings may be, I know that _you_ are the one big thing in her life."

Desmond compressed his lips, and looked down thoughtfully at the bearskin under his feet; while Honor allowed her eyes to dwell on the goodly lines of his face. Then he squared his shoulders and looked up at her.

"Honor--if that is true--and I think it is--you are bound to let me help her by the only means in my power. Give me back that promise of mine. I am strong enough now to tackle the subject; and I warn you fairly that I mean to have my own way. So don't waste time by beating about the bush."

The unexpected attack unbalanced her, and the blood left her face; but there was no hint of yielding in her eyes. They were equally matched these two--strength for strength; will for will. The ultimate victory might rest with either.

"Theo!" she protested, "you can ask that of me--to-day?"

"Yes, precisely--to-day. My mistake--my selfishness, has been very painfully brought home to me in the last hour; and I don't ask it of you--I demand it."

Honor drew herself up to her full height.

"You cannot command it, though," she said quietly. "And--I refuse."

The hot blood mounted to his temples, but he shut his teeth to keep back hasty speech. Then, as the silence grew and deepened between them, anger gave place to an unbounded admiration.

They were standing now face to face, beside the mantelpiece, exactly as they had stood on that eventful April afternoon a year ago. The memory came to them simultaneously; and each saw the light of it spring into the other's eyes. Honor's face softened.

"You remember," she urged. "I see that you remember; and the arguments you admitted then hold even more strongly now. Besides--you said I had earned the right----"

"So you have--ten times over since then. But to-day I see my duty to Ladybird so clearly, that no one--not even you--must stand in the way of it. You would realise better how I feel, if you had heard her pitiful excuses. She was 'dull.' She was 'lonely.' I had 'all those men,'--so I had. She was right, poor child! Truth is, my life is so richly filled with 'all those men,' that I sometimes wonder if I was justified in bringing a woman into it at all. But having done so, I'm bound to take her where she won't be tempted to entangle herself with cads like Kresney, just because she feels dull and lonely. That's the source of half the catastrophes one hears of in this country; and in nine cases out of ten I blame the husband more than the wife. You see, I happen to believe that when a man takes a woman's life into his hands, he makes himself responsible not only for her honour, but for her happiness and well-being. I'm not setting up a standard for other fellows, remember. I am simply stating my own by way of explanation."

Honor's eyes shone with a very tender light.

"I can only say that Evelyn is--a singularly fortunate woman. If most men held such views there would be ninety per cent fewer marriages in the world."

"Possibly. But that doesn't put me in the wrong. Now, I have set the picture before you as I see it----"

"Yes, with the core of it left out,--the loss to you and to the Regiment."

"Oh, hang it all!" Desmond protested with an embarra.s.sed laugh. "One's bound to leave out something. That's the whole art of making a decent picture! But it strikes me we've had enough of argument. Whether I have convinced you or not, Honor, you _must_ let me off that promise."

The girl held her breath, nerving herself for a last desperate stand.

"Forgive me, if you know how, Theo," she said; "but I cannot--I will not give up my right to save you from yourself."

Desmond simply raised his head and looked at her, as though he could not believe that he had heard aright; and when at last he spoke, his voice had the level note of authority which she had been dreading to hear.

"At the risk of seeming brutal, Honor, I warn you that I'll not give you one minute's peace till you unsay those words--for Ladybird's sake."

Then, to his unspeakable consternation, she took a step backward and sank into the chair behind her, pressing both hands over her eyes.

"Do whatever you think right," she murmured brokenly. "You are too strong for me altogether."

There are victories more bitter than defeat; and Desmond had no words in which to answer this girl, who cared so strangely, so intensely, much what became of him.

When a woman breaks down utterly in the presence of the man who loves her--whether he dare acknowledge it or no--words are not apt to meet the exigencies of the case; and Desmond had no other panacea at his command. He could only stand looking down upon her, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, as if he feared that they might go out to her of their own accord; his eyes darkened with such intensity of pain that it was well for both that hers were shielded from sight of them.